MAN 

CYRUS 

TOWNSEND 

BRADY 


- 


THE  BETTER  MAN 


She  lifted  her  face  to  him  and  kissed  him  lightly 

(Page  68} 


THE  BETTER  MAN 

With  Some  Account  of  What  He  Struggled 
for  and  What  He  Won 


BY 


CYRUS   TOWNSEND    BRADY 

Author  of  "The  Island  of  Regeneration,"   "The  Patriots," 
"My  Lady's  Slipper,"  etc. 


ILLUSTRATED  BY 

F.  GRAHAM  COOTES 


NEW  YORK 

DODD,   MEAD   AND    COMPANY 
1910 


Copyright,  1910,  by 
DODD,   MEAD  AND   COMPANY 

Published  September,  1910 


TO 

MARIA  DUDLEY  BRENT 

AND  HER  ABLE  AND  DEVOTED  COADJUTORS 
IN    THE   BEST  WOMEN'S   GUILD    ON    EARTH 


2225253 


PREFACE 

GENTLE  READER: 

Now  that  I  have  completed  my  book  I  confess 
I  am  in  some  doubt  as  to  which  one  in  this  little 
sociological  study  is  the  better  man  after  all.  I 
am  nearly  inclined  to  write  the  title  with  an  in- 
terrogation mark  but  that  it  would  imply  too  great 
an  incertitude  as  to  my  clerical  brethren!  After 
all,  I  think  I  have  arrived  at  a  decision  in  the 
premises,  although  nothing  shall  induce  me  to 
divulge  it.  You  will  have  to  settle  the  matter 
for  yourselves,  dear  friends,  if  you  decide  that 
there  is  a  question  at  all,  and,  being  so,  whether 
it  is  worthy  your  serious  consideration. 

Incidentally,  you  can  also  come  to  a  conclusion, 
after  you  have  determined  to  whom  the  title  of 
my  novel  applies,  as  to  which  was  the  happier 
man.  And  here  again  you  should  not  make  your 
final  decision  lightly  or  unadvisedly.  So  many 


viii  PREFACE 

things  alike  enter  into  true  happiness  and  real  suc- 
cess that  of  two  men  it  is  by  no  means  easy  to 
resolve  a  doubt  as  to  which  is  happier  or  better 
after  all. 

CYRUS  TOWNSEND  BRADY. 

St.  George's  Rectory, 

KANSAS  CITY,  MISSOURI, 
September,  1910. 


CONTENTS 


BOOK  I 

BARMORE   VS.   STEERING  FOR  THE 
HEART  OF  WHARTON 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  THE   FOOLISHNESS   OF   PROVERBS     .     .  3 

II.  KISSES  TAKEN  AND  BLOWS  RECEIVED     .  39 

III.  THE  DEAD  HAND  ON  THE  LIVING  HEAD  73 

IV.  Two  GREAT  MATTERS  ARE  MOOTED     .  99 
V.  BROKEN,  BUT  BINDING 125 

BOOK  II 

STEBBING  VS.  BARMORE  FOR  THE 
METROPOLITAN  SEE 

VI.     MARK  STEBBING  PLEADS  FOR  OTHERS — 

AND  HIMSELF! 165 

VII.     LIONEL    BARMORE    RESPONDS    TO    THE 

APPEAL 199 

VIII.     FOUND  WANTING        .     .     .     .     .     .  219 

IX.     THE  CHOICE  Is  NOT  YET     ....  237 

X.     THE  COURAGE  IN  THE  STREET    .     .     .  255 

XI.     THE  COURAGE  OF  CONFESSION    .     .     .  277 
XII.     IN  WHICH  ALL  Is  SETTLED  IN  THE  ONLY 

WAY        299 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

She  lifted  her  face  to  him  and  kissed  him 

lightly    (page   68) Frontispiece 

She  buried  her  face  in  her  hands  and 
burst  into  tears Facing  page  62 

Her  delicate  hands  hovered  over  her 

hair,  her  dress "         "182 

"  I  am  going  to  marry  you,"  said  the 
girl,  "when  you  are  well  again" 
(page  304)  


BOOK  I 

BARMORE  VS.  STEBBING  FOR  THE  HEART  OF 
WHARTON 


THE    BETTER    MAN 
CHAPTER  I 

THE  FOOLISHNESS  OF  PROVERBS 

THE  way  to  perpetuate  a  folly  is  to  enshrine  it 
in  a  maxim.  To  promulgate  a  lie  it  is  suggested 
that  it  shall  be  made  the  basis  of  a  proverb.  A 
proverb  may  be  defined  as  the  wisdom  of  the  fool- 
ish, in  tabloid  form,  for  the  delectation  of  the 
more  foolish.  Cases  in  point  occur  to  the  most 
casual  reader.  In  every  human  mind  there  is  a 
horde  of  petty  maxims  with  which  to  preach  down 
the  truth. 

Miss  Margaret  Wharton  was  a  living  example 
of  the  fallacy  of  the  often  mooted  proposition 
that  "  The  woman  who  hesitates  is  lost!  " 

If  there  ever  was  any  foundation  in  fact  for 
that  sententious  but  trifling  aphorism,  its  perti- 
nency depends  upon  many  other  things  than  in- 
decision and  delay.  Most  people  will  refuse  to 


4  THE   BETTER   MAN 

admit  this,  and  will  confidently  affirm  that  the 
remark  is  true  in  ninety-nine  cases  out  of  a  hun- 
dred— provided  the  cause  of  feminine  hesitation  is 
a  man !  Even  the  wise  man  who  can  discern  the 
possible,  nay,  probable  fallacy  in  almost  any  given 
proposition,  finds  it  difficult  to  escape  from  the 
trammels  of  convention,  the  swaddling  bands  of 
custom,  and  the  fetters  of  habit.  Granting,  for 
sake  of  argument,  that  feminine  hesitation  over 
the  masculine  is  disastrous,  another  orphic  saying 
is  responsible  for  the  prevalent  opinion  that 
"  There  is  safety  in  numbers."  Therefore,  the 
proverb  under  consideration  should  read :  "  The 
woman  who  hesitates,  not  over  a  man  but  over 
men,  is  on  the  way  to  salvation." 

With  Miss  Margaret  Wharton  it  was  hardly  a 
case  of  how  happy  could  I  be  with  one  were  the 
other  dear  charmer  away,  for  at  least  one  of  the 
two  gentlemen  upon  whom  her  thoughts  were 
bent  could  not  be  included  in  that  category,  what- 
ever might  be  said  of  the  other.  This,  however, 
was,  of  course,  a  mere  matter  of  taste. 

The  women  of  his  congregation  found  the  Rev. 


THE   FOLLY  OF  PROVERBS     5 

Lionel  Dana  Barmore  everything  that  was  delight- 
ful, and  even  the  fastidious  Miss  Wharton  could 
not  but  acknowledge  his  grace  and  charm.  He 
had  ability  to  correspond  with  his  birth  and  breed- 
ing, and  a  personality  with  which  to  sustain  his 
exalted  position  as  Rector  of  the  greatest,  the  rich- 
est, and  the  most  famous  parish  in  the  city;  and 
he  was  a  very  possible  candidate  for  that  vacancy 
in  the  Episcopate,  which  the  ill-health  and  ad- 
vanced years  of  the  noted  prelate  who  had  led 
the  forces  of  the  Church  in  the  metropolis  for  so 
long  a  time,  indicated  would  soon  be  made.  To 
these  attractions  of  the  young  clergyman,  so  in- 
adequately set  down  in  this  passing  catalogue,  were 
added  youth  and  a  fortune,  small,  but  sufficient  to 
give  the  young  man  a  pleasing  independence  of 
his  Vestry  and  the  congregation. 

Before  no  clergyman  in  the  country  was  so 
great  a  future  opening  as  that  which  the  fickle 
goddess  of  fortune  was  disclosing  to  Barmore. 
His  rise  had  been  so  rapid  as  to  have  been  almost 
unprecedented.  Where  other  men  of  his  semi- 
nary class  were  just  beginning  careers  and  look- 


6  THE   BETTER   MAN 

ing  hopefully  forward  to  promise  of  future  suc- 
cess, he  had  already  achieved  it.  Five  years  be- 
fore, after  four  years  at  Columbia  and  three  years 
at  the  "  General,"  he  had  been  ordered  Deacon 
and  called  as  assistant  at  St.  Hilda's.  There,  in 
due  course,  he  had  been  priested,  and  there  he 
had  spent  the  whole  period  of  his  ministry.  Ris- 
ing successively,  by  resignation  and  removal  of 
those  ahead  of  him,  to  senior  assistant,  upon  the 
sudden  death  of  the  old  Rector,  he  had  been 
unanimously  elected  to  take  his  place. 

He  was  the  marvel  of  the  other  clergy,  and  the 
envy  of  the  hard-worked  majority  who  were  com- 
pelled by  circumstances,  which  they  vainly  strove 
to  control,  to  continue  serving  in  humbler  and 
less  eminent  fields.  Barmore  was  one  of  those 
about  whom  Miss  Wharton  stood  hesitant  that 
afternoon — the  charming  one! 

One  of  Barmore's  classmates,  who  rejoiced  un- 
der the  almost  puritanical  name  of  Mark  Stebbing, 
also  had  secured  work  in  the  great  city  at  the  same 
time  with  his  more  favored  brother.  This  was 
the  other  of  the  pair  under  consideration — the  one 


THE   FOLLY   OF   PROVERBS      7 

who  was  not  charming!  Stebbing,  too,  had  been 
first  called  as  an  assistant  in  a  large  parish,  but  he 
had  not  risen  like  Barmore.  In  fact,  to  the  casual 
eye,  he  appeared  to  have  fallen.  Not  finding 
himself  cut  out  for  the  subordinate  position,  recog- 
nizing that  he  was  totally  devoid  of  that  tact 
which  would  make  him  a  favorite  with  the  nu- 
merous Daughters  of  Heth  in  the  congregation, 
who,  as  a  flock,  made  him  very  weary,  indeed,  of 
shepherding;  lacking  patience  entirely  to  fit  him- 
self to  such  a  fashionable  environment  as  that 
presented,  he  had  presently  resigned  his  assistant- 
ship  as  soon  as  he  was  priested,  and  had  sought 
work  elsewhere  in  the  city. 

One  of  the  finest  of  our  Presidents  was  asked 
on  the  eve  of  his  leaving  office  how  it  felt  to  step 
down  and  out.  "  Sir,"  replied  he  to  his  inter- 
locutor, "  you  have  miscalled  the  action.  I  am 
stepping  up,  sir,  up  to  the  people."  Stebbing 
was  like  that  President,  not  in  urbanity,  oh!  no, 
but  in  the  direction  of  his  step. 

St.  Osmund's  Church  was  an  old,  mean, 
wretched,  tumble-down  structure  in  a  part  of  the 


8  THE   BETTER   MAN 

city  once  fashionable.  Its  former  denizens  had 
been  dispossessed,  first  by  business,  and  then  by 
workers.  When  the  rich  and  wealthy  had  moved 
uptown,  they  had  taken  their  religion  with  them, 
leaving  their  church  behind — a  not  unusual  state 
of  affairs!  No  one  wanted  to  be  the  Rector  of 
St.  Osmund's  Church.  It  was  the  most  uninvit- 
ing position  in  the  Diocese.  Among  the  people 
surrounding  it  were  many  foreigners;  they  were 
lawless,  turbulent,  disorderly,  and  in  many  cases 
exceedingly  vicious.  Barmore  with  all  his  talent 
would  not  have  looked  at  the  work  for  a  moment. 
Stebbing,  irritated  by  the  conditions  which  irked 
him  and  which  he  could  not  change  in  his  former 
position,  eagerly  took  this  up.  He  volunteered 
for  it,  in  fact.  He  went  to  old  Bishop  Went- 
worth,  who  was  in  despair  as  to  what  to  do  about 
a  work  which,  for  very  shame's  sake,  could  not 
be  completely  abandoned.  The  Bishop  looked 
him  over  with  those  keen  blue  eyes  of  his,  which 
plunged  so  deeply  into  men,  and  stared  at  him  in 
hard  silence  for  a  short  space.  By  and  by  he 
nodded  his  head  and  gave  the  desired  permission. 


THE  FOLLY  OF  PROVERBS      9 

"  You  are  young,  hot-blooded,  inexperienced, 
but  you  will  do.  The  people  to  whom  you  will 
minister  like  genuine  men,  and  they  will  put  up 
with  a  good  deal  of  tactlessness  and  stupidity  from 
a  man.  I  believe  you  to  be  that,  Stebbing,  and 
you  may  go  there.  Now,  there  are  half  a  dozen 
men  in  the  Diocese  whom  you  do  not  know — the 
Whartons,  the  Grimshaws,  the  Uptons,  and  some 
exceedingly  fine  women  like  the  Wallers  and  the 
Kings,  and  others  to  whom  I  shall  give  you  letters, 
and  who  will  help  you  out  with  this  work. 
You  will  need  a  great  deal  of  money  at  this 
place  to  fix  up  the  church,  which  has  been 
sadly  run  down  since  old  Dr.  Crosby  died  a 
year  ago,  and  to  develop  schools  and  other 
institutional  work,  which  you  will  doubtless 
organize." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  said  Stebbing  firmly, 
"  I  don't  want  a  dollar  from  anybody." 

"  What  I  "  exclaimed  the  Bishop,  a  clergyman 
who  did  not  want  money  for  his  work  being  an 
unthinkable  being  to  the  old  man. 

"  Not  a  dollar !     I  am  going  down  there  to  get 


io  THE   BETTER  MAN 

everything  we  need  out  of  the  people  who  are 
there." 

"  There  are  no  people  there." 

"  Why,  sir,  every  street  teems  with  humanity." 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  said  the  Bishop ;  "  but  they  do 
not  belong  to  us." 

"  To  whom  do  they  belong,  then?  " 

"God  only  knows!" 

"  I'll  try  to  find  out  from  Him,  sir,  if  some  of 
them  can't  be  allotted  to  me." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  you  are  not  going  to 
try  to  get  money  from  the  wealthy  end  of  the 
town  to  build  up  the  other?  " 

"  Not  a  cent.  If  you  offered  me  a  thousand 
dollars  to  start  in,  I  wouldn't  take  it.  I  am  going 
down  there,  sir,  to  lead  those  people  who  live 
there,  and  to  teach  them  that  they  can  get  just 
what  they  are  able  to  pay  for,  and  nothing  else." 

"  But  your  salary,  your  living?  " 

"  I  have  a  few  hundred  dollars  saved  up, 
Bishop.  The  people  where  I  was  assistant  were 
very  good  to  me  at  Christmas,  and  there  are  two 
or  three  rooms  in  the  old  parish  house  that  I  can 


THE   FOLLY   OF   PROVERBS     n 

fix  up.  I  guess  I'll  have  as  much  to  live  on  as 
most  of  the  people  down  there." 

"  Are  you  going  to  live  as  they  do?  " 

"  Just  exactly.  Except  that  I  am  going  to  be 
clean  and  decent,  and  try  to  make  them  so,  but 
there  is  to  be  no  luxury." 

The  Bishop  looked  at  him  for  a  long  time. 

"  My  boy,"  he  said,  "  I  am  an  old  man.  I 
shall  soon  be  called  upon  to  account  for  the  things 
I  have  done  and  the  things  I  have  left  undone  in 
this  life.  I  thank  God  that  I  have  seen  a  spirit 
like  yours  in  this  world." 

"  Thank  you,  sir.  I  hope  to  make  my  plans 
work  out  all  right." 

"  If  they  do,  there  is  nothing  on  earth  you  can- 
not achieve.  I  would  almost  say  nothing  in 
Heaven." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,  sir,  but  what  you 
are  pleased  to  call  my  spirit  will  last  as  long  as 
I  do,  please  God." 

"  Amen,"  said  the  Bishop. 

Between  Barmore  and  Stebbing,  as  between  two 
opinions,  Miss  Wharton  halted.  Wisdom  in- 


12  THE  BETTER  MAN 

clined  her  in  one  direction,  admiration  in  the  other. 
Miss  Wharton  was  a  member  of  Barmore's 
church.  Her  father,  old  General  Bideford  Whar- 
ton, was  the  senior  warden  and  treasurer  of  the 
church.  He  could  easily  himself  have  paid  the 
expenses  of  St.  Hilda's  parish,  heavy  though  they 
were,  without  feeling  it.  His  associates  in  the 
Vestry,  all  men  of  great  wealth  and  high  standing, 
would  not  have  allowed  him  to  do  that,  even  if 
the  parishioners  would  not  have  objected,  so  easy 
is  it  to  be  generous  when  one  hand  does  not  know 
what  the  other  hand  does,  and  need  not  know, 
were  one  as  many-armed  as  Briareus. 

There  is  a  great  deal  of  talk  about  the  idle  rich. 
The  adjective  is  a  misnomer.  The  rich  are  the 
busiest  people  on  earth.  As  to  what  many  of 
them  are  busy  about,  the  least  said  the  better.  The 
generation  to  which  General  Wharton  belonged 
was  busy  and  troubled,  like  Martha,  with  many 
things. 

General  Wharton  had  inherited  great  wealth, 
great  wealth,  that  is,  according  to  the  standard  of 
sixty-odd  years  ago,  when  he  had  been  born.  The 


THE   FOLLY  OF  PROVERBS     13 

income  of  the  Wharton  family  at  that  time  would 
scarcely  have  sufficed  for  the  demands  of  any  in- 
dividual of  it  by  the  time  Bideford  Wharton  had 
reached  mature  years.  The  genius,  financial  and 
administrative,  which  had  laid  the  foundations  of 
the  Wharton  fortune,  had  descended  with  the  re- 
sults they  had  secured  to  the  General.  Not  only 
was  he  the  leading  communicant  of  St.  Hilda's, 
but  he  was  the  leading  citizen  of  the  great  city. 
He  had  irons  in  many  fires,  and  kept  them  all 
burning  brightly.  He  was  president  of  the  great- 
est bank,  the  head  of  the  most  important  railroad 
system,  and  the  principal  owner  of  the  enormously 
valuable  franchise  of  the  Rapid  Transit  Company, 
which  gridironed  every  street  in  the  city  with  its 
tracks. 

There  was  one  place  where  he  was  not  an  im- 
portant member,  and  that  was  on  the  Stock  Ex- 
change. His  business  enterprises  were  purely 
legitimate,  according  to  his  lights.  He  did  not 
speculate.  He  had  never  forced  the  price  of  the 
loaf  up,  or  the  size  of  the  loaf  down,  by  cornering 
wheat.  When  he  took  hold  of  railroad  property 


i4  THE   BETTER   MAN 

it  was  to  rehabilitate  it.  He  managed  the  affairs 
of  the  Rapid  Transit  Company  to  the  general  satis- 
faction of  his  fellow-citizens.  He  was  not  a  phi- 
lanthropist in  his  business  enterprises,  however. 
He  made  his  money  work  for  him,  and  he  made 
his  men  work  for  him,  too.  He  was  a  fair  and 
square  business  man.  Nobody  could  point  the 
finger  of  scorn  at  him  or  speak  of  his  actions, 
public  or  private,  with  sneering  contempt.  Yet 
he  had  about  as  much  of  the  real  love  of  God  in 
him  as  one  of  the  stone  pillars  of  the  church  of 
which  he  was  a  human  counterpart. 

What  he  lacked  in  that  particular,  his  daughter 
Margaret  had  in  large  measure.  There  was  not 
an  opportunity  open  to  the  golden  girls  of  to-day 
that  Margaret  Wharton  could  not  have  enjoyed. 
There  was  no  fad  to  which  the  feminine  mind 
could  apply  itself  which  she  could  not  have  made 
her  own.  Her  father  was  generous  to  a  fault 
with  her,  and  was  genuinely  distressed  over  the 
strangely  democratic  tendencies  he  detected  in  the 
career  which  she  rather  obstinately  pursued.  In- 
stead of  having  had  the  originality  tutored  out  of 


THE   FOLLY   OF   PROVERBS     15 

her  by  private  instruction,  she  had  gone  to  Smith 
College,  and  had  lived  at  Northampton  like  the 
other  young  women  there,  neither  astonishing  the 
college  with  her  riches  on  the  one  hand,  nor  on 
the  other  hand  making  any  parade  of  poverty  or 
renunciation. 

She  was  too  young  and  full  of  life  not  to  take 
a  reasonable  degree  of  pleasure  in  that  most  ex- 
alted society  which  was  opened  to  her  on  her 
graduation.  Her  debut  had  been  the  talk  of  the 
continent,  for  instance,  and  she  at  once  took  the 
natural  position  which  was  hers  by  right  of  birth, 
breeding,  character,  and  unlimited  resources.  She 
had,  nevertheless,  unaccountable  propensities  for 
seeing  the  other  side  of  life,  not  with  the  idle  gaze 
of  the  spectator,  but  to  acquire  knowledge  which 
she  could  by  and  by  make  use  of.  She  realized — 
she  was  an  extremely  able  young  woman — that  one 
reason  why  the  efforts  of  those  who  strove  to 
bring  about  social  reform  and  to  ameliorate  exist- 
ing conditions  failed  was  because  they  did  not 
know  what  they  would  be  at.  Knowledge  was 
power.  Being  a  well  brought  up  girl,  she 


16  THE  BETTER  MAN 

naturally  turned  to  the  Church  for  a  source  of 
information,  and  found  there  conditions  to  hand. 
Among  other  excellent  things  for  which  St. 
Hilda's  was  responsible  was  a  splendid  social 
settlement,  so  admirably  designed,  so  completely 
equipped,  so  generously  administered,  that  abso- 
lutely nothing  was  left  to  be  desired.  The  brand- 
new  mission  settlement  house  was  not  very  far 
from  St.  Osmund's  Church.  It  was,  in  fact,  just 
outside  of  the  parochial  limits  of  Stebbing's  cure, 
and  it  was  a  continual  thorn  in  the  flesh  to  that 
young  man.  There  was,  in  the  first  place,  a  con- 
descension about  it  which  irritated  him.  He  radi- 
cally condemned  those  persons  like  Margaret 
Wharton,  who  were  under  no  necessity  whatso- 
ever, but  who  craved  a  sort  of  spiritual  diversion, 
and  who  came  there  from  time  to  time  to  do  what 
was  possible  among  the  poor  people,  who,  as  Steb- 
bing  bitterly  phrased  it  in  his  own  mind,  resorted 
thither  for  loaves  and  fishes,  for  amusement  and 
entertainment,  for  the  benefits  and  privileges  of 
warmth,  light,  color,  and  instruction,  for  which 
they  paid  nothing  and  valued  accordingly. 


THE   FOLLY  OF  PROVERBS     17 

At  St.  Osmund's  Church  it  was  different.  There 
was  warmth  and  light  there,  but  there  was  little 
color  for  which  the  people  could  pay.  Practically 
single-handed  and  alone,  with  only  some  slight  as- 
sistance from  the  people  themselves,  Stebbing  or- 
ganized his  parish  under  great  difficulty.  They 
had  superb  music  over  at  St.  Hilda's  mission, 
very  pleasant  to  hear.  The  boys  who  sang  were 
given  their  board,  clothes,  and  instruction  in  re- 
turn for  their  labor.  Stebbing's  boys  sang  for 
love.  Love  is  the  power  which  moves  the  world, 
but  it  does  not  train  voices,  and  it  cannot  of  neces- 
sity sing.  Poor  Stebbing  had  as  much  music  in 
his  voice  as  a  cow  has,  though  there  was  plenty 
of  music  in  his  soul,  but  his  boys  loved  him,  and 
his  people  did  also. 

Miss  Wharton  had,  after  a  time,  become  inter- 
ested in  what  she  heard  from  the  people  at  the 
mission-house  of  the  solitary  soldier  of  Christ 
across  the  way.  She  spoke  to  her  own  Rector 
about  him. 

"  Stebbing,"  said  Barmore  judiciously,  "  is  one 
of  the  best  fellows  on  earth — able,  enthusiastic, 


i8  THE   BETTER   MAN 

tactless  as  the  proverbial  bull  in  the  china  shop,  and 
impractical  in  the  last  degree." 

"Why  don't  you  make  St.  Hilda's  help  him, 
back  him  up  ?  " 

"  Help  him,  Miss  Wharton !  "  returned  Bar- 
more;  "I  have  offered  to  do  it  a  hundred  times. 
The  Bishop  and  he  had  a  long  talk  about  that 
mission,  and  Stebbing  told  me  that  the  Bishop 
offered  to  furnish  him  with  a  number  of  letters  to 
some  of  the  wealthy  people  from  whom  he  might 
get  assistance.  But  he  absolutely  refused  to  use 
them.  Said  that  the  people  down  there  must  pay 
for  what  they  get.  They  couldn't  have  anything 
but  what  they  paid  for,  and  he  thought  that,  in 
that  way,  they  would  appreciate  it." 

"  All  very  fine  in  theory,  but  does  it  work  in 
practice?  "  asked  the  woman. 

"  Certainly  not.  That  is  why  I  started  St. 
Hilda's  mission  down  there.  I  felt  that  the  poor 
people  were  neglected,  that  we  were  not  giving 
them  all  they  should  have.  It  was  hard  on  poor 
old  Mark,  whom  I  love  like  a  brother,  and  whom 
I  hate  to  hurt.  I  went  to  him  and  begged  him 


THE   FOLLY   OF   PROVERBS     19 

to  undertake  it,  and  let  me  and  my  parish  back 
him  up,  but  when  he  positively  said  no,  and  con- 
sidering the  slow  progress  that  he  was  mak- 
ing " 

"He  does  make  progress,  then?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  some ;  in  five  years  of  hard  work  he 
could  hardly  help  that.  But  I  felt  there  was  not 
enough  being  done,  and  what  was  done,  not  on 
the  right  lines.  So  I  started  our  mission.  You 
yourself  have  seen  the  good  it  does." 

"Yes,"  said  the  girl,  "there  is  no  denying  it; 
but  isn't  there  something  to  be  said  for  Mr.  Steb- 
bing's  position?  " 

"  Everything  to  be  said,  but  that  is  as  far 
as  it  goes.  The  church  has  to  be  brought  to 
those  people,  to  be  forced  upon  them,  as  it  were. 
We  must  go  out  and  compel  them  to  come 
in,  you  know.  I  trust  I  make  my  meaning 
clear." 

There  was  no  doubting  the  genuine  sincerity  of 
the  man  and  his  enthusiasm.  There  was  worldly 
wisdom  in  his  conclusions.  There  were  few  men 
who  could  be  as  convincing  and  yet  as  winning. 


20  THE   BETTER   MAN 

Yet  the  woman  was  not  quite  convinced,  or  even 
won. 

"  Are  you  often  there  yourself,  Mr.  Barmore, 
— at  the  mission,  I  mean?  " 

"  As  often  as  I  can  be.  You  know  the  Rector 
of  a  parish  like  this  is  simply  overwhelmed  with 
work,  socially  and  every  other  way.  But  for- 
tunately, I  have  excellent  assistance,  and  if  I  can 
only  get  a  few  more  lay  helpers  I  shall  be  all 
right — young  women  of  the  congregation,  young 
women  of  social  position  like  you,  Miss  Wharton, 
who  have  everything  and  still  do  not  think  it  be- 
neath them  to  work  with  the  poor  and  needy  and 
humble.  Nothing,  not  even  my  election  as  Rector, 
has  pleased  me  so  much  as  your  volunteering  to  do 
this  work.  It  is  a  most  glorious  example.  I 
can't  thank  you  enough.  I  believe  it  is  going  to 
mark  the  beginning  of  a  new  era  for  St.  Hilda's. 
When  the  daughter  of  Bideford  Wharton  is  will- 
ing to  lead,  no  one  can  hang  back." 

He  spoke  with  a  fine  glow  of  enthusiasm.  The 
girl  had  never  known  how  handsome  and  agree- 
able he  was  till  now.  She  had  admired  his  bril- 


THE   FOLLY  OF  PROVERBS    21 

liant  oratory,  his  acuteness  of  mind,  from  the 
simple  vantage  ground  of  a  pew,  but  this  mission 
work  had  brought  her  in  closer  touch  with  him. 
She  saw  him  often  in  his  study.  She  had  even 
gone  with  him  to  the  mission-house.  He  had 
given  her  instruction  as  to  the  possible  work. 
Naturally,  he  was  a  frequent  visitor  and  a  welcome 
one  at  General  Wharton's  house.  The  General 
was  an  old-fashioned  American.  He  had  a  deep- 
rooted  prejudice  against  the  foreign  alliances  to 
which  the  daughters  of  the  American  millionaires 
usually  look  forward.  He  would  have  been  glad 
to  welcome  such  a  man  as  Barmore  with  such 
talent,  such  a  reputation,  and  such  a  future,  as  a 
son-in-law.  He  said  nothing  of  this,  of  course, 
but  his  daughter  divined  it,  and  it  did  not  make 
her  look  with  any  added  disfavor  upon  what 
speedily  became  an  open,  ardent,  tactful,  and  ex- 
ceedingly charming  wooing  on  the  young  minis- 
ter's part. 

What  might  have  happened  if  Margaret  Whar- 
ton  had  not  met  Mr.  Stebbing  personally  can  easily 
be  imagined.  A  girl  with  her  lofty  ideals  and 


22  THE   BETTER   MAN 

with  her  nature,  ability,  and  fine  training  would 
have  rejoiced  at  the  opportunity  of  service  pre- 
sented by  a  marriage  with  a  man  like  Barmore. 
Socially  he  was  everything  that  could  be  desired. 
His  own  fortune,  small  though  it  was,  gave  him 
a  sense  of  independence;  he  mingled  on  terms  of 
perfect  equality  with  the  finest  young  men  of  her 
acquaintance.  He  belonged  to  the  best  clubs, 
drove  his  own  car,  spent  his  vacation  where  the 
majority  of  the  members  of  his  church  were  ac- 
customed to  pass  the  summer,  yet  withal  he  never 
neglected  his  work  at  St.  Hilda's.  That  church 
had  made  no  mistake  in  calling  him.  Always  a 
fashionable  church,  with  its  high  position  it  had 
become  even  more  so  since  he  had  taken  the  place 
of  the  old  Rector.  There  was  not  a  pew  to  be 
had  for  love  or  money,  and  the  waiting  list  was 
long  and  anxious.  The  church  was  regularly, 
morning,  afternoon,  and  evening,  crowded  to  its 
capacity.  As  may  be  imagined,  Barmore  was  the 
most  talked-of  and  influential  clergyman  of  his 
.day. 

.Why  shqul4n\  she  many  him,  she  thought  as 


THE   FOLLY   OF   PROVERBS    23 

she  scanned  a  short  note  just  received,  which  asked 
the  privilege  of  calling  upon  her  that  afternoon 
upon  business  of  great  importance  to  him,  and,  he 
hoped,  to  her,  the  nature  of  which  she  could  pos- 
sibly divine.  Margaret  was  not  extremely  young. 
She  had  graduated  at  twenty-two,  and  she  had  been 
four  years  out  of  college.  It  was  for  no  reason 
but  her  own  fancy,  for  she  could  have  been  mar- 
ried in  her  first  season.  No  one,  strange  to  say, 
had  ever  awakened  in  her  breast  that  divine  thrill 
of  which  she  had  read.  In  her  ignorance  of  any 
such  experience  she  had  fancied,  from  the  descrip- 
tions of  it,  that  it  was  a  mere  fictional  touch  which 
was  used  by  authors  of  stories  of  the  heart.  She 
sat  in  the  library  of  the  great  house,  trying  by 
whatever  means  lay  in  her  power  to  determine 
accurately  her  sensations  at  the  prospect  before 
her. 

For  a  human  being  in  the  day  and  age  of  tele- 
phones to  enjoy  an  uninterrupted  five  minutes  for 
meditation  is  unusual,  to  say  the  least.  She  had 
not  decided  whether  the  warm  glow  around  her 
heart  and  the  faint  blush  which  suffused  her  cheek 


24  THE  BETTER  MAN 

were  sufficient  indication  of  a  great  passion  to  en- 
able her  to  accept  the  proffer  of  his  affections, 
which  Barmore  would  surely  make  that  afternoon, 
or  not,  when  the  telephone  bell  tinkled  with  its 
usual  imperious  and  vulgar  self-assertion  and  in- 
terrupted her  thoughts.  The  interruption,  how- 
ever, was  rather  welcome.  Indecision  always  re- 
joices in  a  reasonable  excuse  for  the  postponement 
of  the  solution  of  a  problem.  She  laid  Barmore's 
letter  down  on  the  table  and  picked  up  the  tele- 
phone. 

"Hello!  "she  began. 

A  voice  that  she  knew  spoke  thus : 

"  Is  that  you,  Miss  Wharton?  " 

"  Yes." 

"This  is  Mr.  Stebbing,  Rector  of  St.  Os- 
mund's." 

"  I  recognize  your  voice." 

"  Do  you  ?  that's  fine.  I  want  to  see  you  this 
afternoon  some  time." 

Miss  Wharton  smiled  into  the  receiver.  What 
on  earth  could  he  possibly  want  with  her?  Was 
it  possible  that  he  too 


THE   FOLLY   OF   PROVERBS    25 

"  Very  well,  Mr.  Stebbing,  I  shall  be  glad  to 
see  you." 

"  At  what  time?" 

"  Five  o'clock." 

"  Thank  you.     I  shall  be  there.     Good-by." 

He  evidently  hung  up  the  receiver  thereafter. 
There  was  an  abruptness  in  his  action  which  was, 
although  somewhat  discourteous  she  thought,  his 
usual  way  of  doing  things. 

What  could  he  want?  she  mused.  Her 
thought  for  a  moment  left  Barmore.  She  had 
seen  Stebbing  a  great  many  times  in  the  four  years 
that  had  elapsed  since  she  had  left  college.  She 
had  even  made  her  father  once  invite  him  to  the 
house  for  dinner.  It  was  an  experiment  which 
in  all  probability  would  not  be  repeated,  for  Steb- 
bing and  the  General  had  disagreed  instantly,  the 
disagreement  being  about  the  proposed  letter  from 
the  Bishop  to  the  General  for  help.  The  two 
men  regarded  that  class  of  society  among  which 
Stebbing  lived  from  an  entirely  different  point  of 
view,  and  a  heated  discussion  ensued,  Stebbing 
putting  aside  with  his  usual  bluntness  the  ideas  of 


26  THE   BETTER   MAN 

the  General  with  a  stubborn  persistency  and  with 
little  regard  for  the  high  position  and  the  more 
advanced  years  of  his  antagonist.  Deftly  and 
tactfully  Barmore,  who  was  also  present,  had 
stopped  the  quarrel  between  the  two  before  it 
reached  the  acute  stage.  Yet,  while  Margaret 
Wharton  loved  and  respected  her  father,  and  while 
she  greatly  admired  Barmore  for  his  brilliant 
thoughtfulness,  she  thought  by  no  means  disparag- 
ingly of  Stebbing.  In  her  sociological  investiga- 
tions she  had  many  times  visited  his  parish. 

The  other  slum  churches,  so  called,  enlisted  the 
services  of  men  and  women  from  the  better  and 
happier  sections  of  the  city  as  teachers  and  for 
the  other  work.  Stebbing's  bull-headedness  and 
obstinacy  manifested  itself  even  here.  He  would 
train  his  own  teachers  himself.  He  was  deter- 
mined that  if  the  Grace  of  God,  through  one 
Mark  Stebbing,  would  not  make  out  with  what 
there  was  there,  and  if  the  people  of  the  church 
who  lived  there  could  not,  why  then  he  would 
give  up,  not  because  the  Grace  of  God  was  in- 
effective, but  because  Mark  Stebbing  was  unworthy 


THE   FOLLY   OF   PROVERBS    27 

to  be  His  minister.  There  was  something  tre- 
mendous about  the  determination  and  consecration 
of  the  man. 

Miss  Wharton  had  one  day  rather  rashly  offered 
herself  as  a  volunteer  teacher  in  his  sewing  or 
Sunday  school. 

"No,"  said  Stebbing  bluntly,  "I  can't  have 
you  in  either.  You  probably  don't  know  anything 
about  industrial  work.  You  rich  people  are 
brought  up  to  do  nothing,  elegantly  enough,  I  will 
admit,  but  your  accomplishments  in  that  direction 
would  serve  no  purpose  down  here,  and  you  prob- 
ably have  only  a  very  rudimentary  knowledge  of 
morals,  ethics,  and  real  Christianity." 

"  Mr.  Stebbing,"  she  retorted  with  instant  in- 
dignation, "  I  wonder  how  you  ever  expect  to 
succeed  if  you  jump  so  at  conclusions,  if  you  de- 
cide upon  such  inadequate  knowledge  as  you  have 
manifested.  It  is  the  easiest " 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  asked  Stebbing  quickly, 
somewhat  amazed  by  the  flash  in  her  eye  and  sur- 
prised at  her  promptitude  in  carrying  the  war  into 
Africa. 


28  THE   BETTER   MAN 

"  It  appears  to  be  the  easiest  thing  on  earth  for 
a  man  of  your  temperament  to  come  to  a  quick 
decision,  though  the  evidence  may  not  warrant  his 
judgment.  You  have  no  personal  knowledge  of 
any  individual  exception  to  the  rather  absurd  rule 
you  are  pleased  to  set  forth.  In  the  first  place, 
I  can  cook  and  sew.  I  have  seen  evidences  of 
your  own  culinary  attempts  in  your  parish  house 
here,"  she  ran  on  with  fine  scorn,  "  and  I  have  also 
been  favored  with  evidences  of  the  cooking  and 
sewing  ability  of  your  helpers,  and  I  assure  you 
that  you  have  no  cause  to  be  proud  either  of  your- 
self or  of  them." 

Stebbing  laughed.  He  was  possessed  of  a 
saving  sense  of  humor. 

"  You  are  right  there,  Miss  Wharton,"  he  said. 
"  I  am  doing  my  best  to  teach  these  people  cook- 
ery." 

"  You  are  ?  Well,  why  don't  you  get  a  cook 
to  show  them  how?  " 

"  It  is  a  theory  of  mine  that  we  have  to  develop 
our  teachers  ourselves,  and " 

"Well,  why  don't  you  let  them  develop  their 


THE   FOLLY   OF   PROVERBS    29 

clergyman  themselves?  What  are  you  doing 
here?" 

"  I  am  one  of  them,  Miss  Wharton." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  were  born 
in  this  section  of  the  city." 

"  No,  thank  God,  I  was  born  in  the  Vermont 
hills.  My  father  was  a  New  England  farmer. 
My  mother  was  the  kindest  mother  and  the  best 
cook  on  earth.  I  wish  I  had  some  of  her  skill." 

"  Why  don't  you  get  her  down  here?  " 

"  She  has  worked  her  full  term  elsewhere,  Miss 
Wharton,"  said  Stebbing  gravely,  "  and  she  has 
gone  to  a  place — I  was  going  to  say  where  they 
do  not  labor  any  more,  but  I  can't  think  of  a 
Heaven  which  wouldn't  give  mankind  some  op- 
portunity to  work." 

"And  your  father?"  asked  the  girl  softly. 

"  He,  too.  I  am  alone  with  my  people,  but 
yet*"not  alone,  either." 

He  glanced  up  for  a  brief  moment,  but  the 
woman  understood. 

"  Well,"  she  continued,  "  I  can  only  say  that 
her  talent  did  not  descend  to  you." 


3o  THE   BETTER   MAN 

"  There  are  few  sons,  Miss  Wharton,  who 
are  worthy  of  their  mothers.  The  race 
would  advance  too  rapidly  if  that  were  the 
case." 

"And  furthermore,  you  have  been  pleased  to 
question  my  knowledge  of  the  Scriptures,"  she 
ran  on.  "  Let  me  tell  you  that  I  studied  them 
in  college." 

"  In  college !  "  laughed  the  young  man  contemp- 
tuously. 

"  Yes,  I  am  one  of  those  who  really  did  study 
in  college  and  since  Mr.  Barmore  has  been  our 
Rector  I  have  studied  under  his  direction.  I 
can,  and  I  do,  read  and  study  the  Bible  in  French, 
German,  Latin,  and  Greek." 

"  You  are  ahead  of  me.  I  have  some  knowl- 
edge of  Hebrew  and  Greek,  but  no  German,  and 
but  little  French." 

"  So  you  see  you  had  no  right  to  disdain  me, 
whatever  you  thought  of  my  offer." 

"  I  had  not,"  admitted  the  young  man  peni- 
tently. "  It  is  not  right  to  disdain  any  offer,  even 
from  the  rich,  but  when  I  think  of  all  that  you 


THE   FOLLY   OF   PROVERBS  31 

people  have,  and  all  that  my  people  lack,  then 
j » 

"  But  I  want  to  give  them  some  of  the  things 
which  they  lack,  and  which  I  have." 

"  That  is  just  it.  They  cannot  be  given  these 
things ;  they  have  got  to  earn  them." 

"  You  are  foolish.  How  can  they  get  these 
things  without  receiving  assistance?  " 

"  Maybe  I  am  foolish,  but  I  haven't  admitted 
it  yet.  I  am  going  to  make  this  parish  stand 
alone.  I  wouldn't  even  accept  the  stipend  from 
the  Missionary  Board." 

"  I  know  you  wouldn't." 

"  How  did  you  know  it?  " 

"  Mr.  Barmore  told  me." 

."  Barmore  is  a  fine  fellow — one  of  the  finest 
I  know,"  said  Stebbing  heartily,  "  but  he  is  built 
on  conventional  lines.  His  method  of  preaching 
the  Gospel  down  here  is  impractical." 

Miss  Wharton  smiled.  The  adjective  was  the 
very  same  that  Barmore  had  applied  to  his  friend's 
methods. 

"  Look  upon  this  picture,  and  upon  this.'* 


3.2  THE  BETTER  MAN 

She  pointed  out  of  the  window  in  the  direction 
of  the  St.  Hilda  mission,  and  then  surveyed  the 
huge,  old,  gloomy,  and  still  somewhat  dilapidated 
building  in  which  their  conversation  was  held. 

*'  Oh,  if  you  are  going  to  judge  by  temporary 
and  material  success,  I  will  have  to  admit  the  force 
of  your  argument.  But  if  you  call  this  dilapi- 
dated now,  you  ought  to  have  seen  it  when  I  came. 
And  you  ought  to  see  it  filled  with  people  on  Sun- 
days, too.  Not  that  I  am  taking  any  credit  to 
myself,  Miss  Wharton,  but  it  is  the  ideal,  it  is 
the  work.  The  people  down  here  are  taking  hold. 
You  have  all  the  respectable  people  in  your  neigh- 
borhood attached  to  your  mission.  I  have  every 
blackguard,  scoundrel,  pauper,  thief,  and  drunkard 
around  me." 

"A  Cave  of  Adullam?" 

"  Exactly.  That  is  what  the  Church  ought  to 
be.  We  ought  to  take  in  every  wretched  specimen 
of  humanity,  and  turn  them  out  men  and 
women." 

"And  your  helpers?  " 

"  I  have  some  hard-working  laboring  men  and 


THE   FOLLY  OF  PROVERBS  33 

women.  The  wives  of  the  laboring  men  are  al- 
most harder  workers  than  the  men.  These  people 
have  come  to  my  support.  They  are  my  Vestry, 
they  teach  my  Sunday  school,  support  the  church, 
and  are  gradually  changing  the  vagrom  men  of  the 
cave  into  good  soldiers  of  the  Cross." 

"  You  received  a  check  from  me  the  other  day, 
Mr.  Stebbing,  for  your  work?" 

"  I  did." 

"  And  you  sent  it  back  to  me." 

"  I  did."  ! 

"Wasn't  it  enough?" 

"  Enough !  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  I  thought  five  thousand  dollars  was  a  good 
sum  to  begin  with,  but  I  can  make  it  more  if  you 
think  I  should." 

"  I  would  have  sent  it  back  if  it  had  been  five 
million." 

"  But  if  it  had  been  five  dollars,  sent  anony- 
mously?" 

"  I  suppose  I  should  have  kept  that,"  he  ad- 
mitted reluctantly. 

"  So  you  won't  have  me,  and  you  won't  have 


34  THE   BETTER   MAN 

my  money,  except  in  small  sums  when  sent  se- 
cretly?" 

She  smiled  at  him  brilliantly  as  she  asked  this 
rather  startling  question. 

Reducing  the  matter  to  the  concrete  rather 
puzzled  the  somewhat  annoyed  young  man.  The 
argumentum  ad  hominem  usually  acts  that  way. 

"  I  don't  believe  that  was  exactly  the  question," 
he  urged. 

"  And  you  are  not  willing  even  to  let  me  devote 
my  time  or  what  means  I  have  to  your  work?  Do 
you  think  that  is  fair  ?  " 

"  There  was  a  young  man  once,"  said  Stebbing, 
"  who  came  to  his  Master  with  a  similar  proposi- 
tion." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  girl. 

"  And  he  received  this  answer:  *  One  thing  thou 
lackest :  go  thy  way,  sell  whatsoever  thou  hast,  and 
give  to  the  poor,  and  thou  shalt  have  treasure  in 
Heaven:  and  come,  take  up  the  cross  and  follow 
me.'  " 

"  I  have  heard  the  story  of  that  young  man," 
returned  the  woman  slowly,  "  and  he  went  away 


THE   FOLLY  OF  PROVERBS  35 

sorrowful  when  he  heard  that,  for  did  he  not  have 
great  possessions?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Stebbing,  "  he  did." 

"And  you  think  I  ought  to  do  that?" 

"  I  have  not  said  so." 

"  You  think  that  everybody  ought  to  do  that?  " 

"  I  have  not  even  said  that." 

"  Yet  that  was  the  answer  you  gave  to  my 
question." 

"  It  came  to  my  mind,  and  I  couldn't  help  it." 

"  I  could  do  even  that,  Mr.  Stebbing." 

"For  the  love  of  God?" 

"  Yes,  or  I  could  even  do  it  for  the  love  of 
man." 

She  stopped,  trembling  at  her  audacity,  and 
Stebbing  glanced  at  her,  also  trembling,  wonder- 
ing if  he  had  heard  aright. 

"  How  tragic  we  have  become,"  resumed  the 
woman  lightly.  "  Really,  my  possessions  are  but 
few,  and  I  would  give  them  away  gladly,  but 
there  would  be  no  privation  in  it,  for  every  one 
of  my  wishes  would  be  anticipated  by  others  and 
J  would  get  just  .what  J  .want  just  the  same.  I 


36  THE  BETTER  MAN 

will  go  back  to  St.  Hilda's.  They  want  me 
there,"  she  said,  smiling. 

"  You  couldn't  be  with  a  better  man  than  Bar- 
more,"  said  Stebbing,  his  conscience  smiting  him, 
"  and  may  I  say,  God  bless  you  whatever  you  do 
and  wherever  you  go?" 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Stebbing,  and  it  may  be  that, 
although  I  do  not  work  in  your  parish,  He  may 
find  it  possible  to  heed  your  prayer." 

She  was  gone.  A  faint  fragrance  of  her  pres- 
ence lingered  in  the  air.  Stebbing  sat  there,  think- 
ing over  what  she  had  said : 

"  For  the  love  of  God  or  man.  I  wonder  what 
she  meant.  I  wonder — I  am  a  fool,  and  there 
is  nothing  in  the  Bible  reprehending  a  man  who 
calls  himself  a  fool." 

He  turned  away  and  applied  himself  to  his  daily 
task  with  a  grim  determination,  a  more  resolute 
will  than  ever.  That  was  nearly  three  years  ago. 
The  offer  of  assistance  had  never  been  renewed, 
but  he  had  seen  Miss  Wharton  from  time  to  time 
since  then,  when  she  was  in  the  city.  He  had 
never  called  at  her  home,  but  he  was  continually 


THE   FOLLY  OF  PROVERBS  37 

running  across  her  at  one  or  the  other  of  the  vari- 
ous meetings  to  which  his  profound  knowledge 
of  social  conditions  in  the  under-world  and  her  in- 
clination to  find  out  brought  them. 

The  result  of  these  meetings  had  been  disas- 
trous to  Mark  Stebbing.  He  had  suffered  every- 
thing because  of  her,  but  with  dogged  determina- 
tion he  had  kept  on  with  his  work.  For  weeks  it 
had  been  a  dead  flat  failure,  for  months  it  had 
stood  still,  until  the  tide  had  turned  and  things 
had  begun  to  come  his  way.  Now  St.  Osmund's 
was  crowded  with  poor  people,  who  heard  the 
word  he  preached  gladly. 

St.  Hilda's  settlement  also  had  succeeded  in  a 
different  way  and  with  a  different  class.  It  had 
demonstrated  the  wisdom  of  Barmore's  plans,  and 
a  large  and  enthusiastic  body  of  the  finest  young 
women  of  the  city,  lead  by  Margaret  Wharton, 
werg  devoted  to  it,  yet  that  young  woman  often 
thought  of  the  slow,  grim,  hard  work  of  the  old 
church  further  down  in  the  city,  in  another  world 
almost,  and  she  often  thought  of  the  dauntless 
young  Rector.  Sometimes,  she  even  stole  away 


38  THE   BETTER   MAN 

from  St.  Hilda's  with  all  its  beauty  and  its  fine 
music,  and  sat  in  the  back  of  Stebbing's  humbler 
church  and  listened  to  his  ruder,  simpler,  but  still 
moving  preaching  of  the  Gospel. 

What  could  he  want  with  her  that  after- 
noon ?  She  would  not  have  been  a  woman  if  she 
had  not  divined  his  admiration,  but  was  there  any- 
thing more?  She  blushed  at  the  thought  of  it. 
Barmore  was  coming  at  four,  Stebbing  at  five. 
Were  they  both  bent  on  the  same  errand?  If  so, 
would  she,  could  she  hesitate  a  moment  between 
them?  She  could,  and  she  didl 


CHAPTER  II 

KISSES  TAKEN  AND  BLOWS  RECEIVED 

Miss  WHARTON'S  meditations  were  presently  in- 
terrupted by  two  things.  She  heard  faintly 
through  the  closed  door  the  great  clock  in  the 
hall  strike  four.  Its  musical  cadences  had  scarce 
died  away  when  the  door  opened  and  the  parlor- 
maid entered  carrying  on  her  silver  salver  a  visit- 
ing-card, which  she  presented  to  her  mistress. 
The  Rev.  Lionel  Barmore,  like  all  successful  men, 
had  the  faculty  of  arriving  on  time.  His  hour 
had  struck — had  hers,  she  wondered? — and  he  was 
here. 

"  Show  Mr.  Barmore  in,  Jane,  and  I  am  not 
at  home  to  anyone  until  five." 

"a Yes,   Miss  Wharton." 

"Wait.  If  Mr.  Stebbing  calls  about  five 
o'clock,  and  Mr.  Barmore  is  still  here,  show  him 
into  the  reception-room  and  ask  him  to  wait;  say 
to  him  that  I  shall  be  at  leisure  in  a  few  minutes." 

39 


40  THE   BETTER   MAN 

"  Yes,  Miss  Wharton." 

"  I  do  not  think,"  reflected  Margaret,  as  the 
maid  courtesied  and  withdrew,  "  that  it  will  take 
Mr.  Barmore  longer  than  one  hour  to  make  and 
conclude  his  declaration  and  receive  his  answer." 
She  smiled  at  the  whimsical  thought.  "  Let  me 
see,"  her  mind  ran  on,  "  I  have  been  proposed  to 
by  all  sorts  of  men,  from  Dukes  down,  but  I  be- 
lieve this  is  the  first  clergyman  who  has  honored 
me.  '  It  never  rains  but  it  pours.'  Apparently 
I  am  to  have  two  to-day.  There  was  a  fierce  note 
of  intensity  in  Mr.  Stebbing's  voice  that " 

"  My  dear  Miss  Wharton,"  broke  in  the  rich, 
well-modulated,  excessively-cultivated  voice  of 
Barmore.  "  It  was  awfully  good  of  you  to  accede 
to  my  request  so  promptly,  and  I  learned  too  late 
that  there  was  a  cricket  match  and  an  afternoon 
tea  at  the  Erdfield  Club,  at  which  you  were  to  be 
one  of  the  hostesses.  If  I  had  known  it  before, 
I  should  never  have  presumed " 

"  Mr.  Barmore,"  said  the  woman  gently,  recog- 
nizing his  grace  and  charm,  his  good  looks,  the 
distinction  with  which  he  wore  his  perfectly-fitting 


KISSES  AND   BLOWS  41 

and  very  becoming  clerical  clothes.  "  You  said 
that  your  business  was  of  great  importance  to  you, 
and,  to  me,  you  ventured  to  hope.  I  am  always 
at  your  service  when  matters  of  serious  moment 
are  to  be  considered,  and  I  am  glad  to  miss  the 
rather  tiresome  cricket  match,  and " 

"  Miss  Margaret,"  said  Barmore,  sitting  down 
and  drawing  his  chair  somewhat  close  to  hers,  "  I 
spoke  truthfully  when  I  said  that  my  business  with 
you  this  afternoon  was  of  great  importance  to  me, 
and,  I  hope  truthfully,  that  it  will  be  to  you." 

"It  is  about  the  mission,  is  it?"  she  asked, 
woman-like  fencing  a  little  to  delay  that  which  was 
both  inevitable  and  not  altogether  unwelcome. 

"  It  is  about  one  mission,  but  not  about  that  to 
which  you  refer." 

"  And  what  mission?  " 

*'  My  mission." 

".And  what  is  that?" 

"  I  have  many,  Miss  Margaret,  many." 

"And  which  one  concerns  me?" 

"  I  believe  all  of  them." 

"How  is  that?" 


42  THE   BETTER   MAN 

"Well,    my   mission    is   to    preach    the    Gos- 


"Tome?"  she  smiled. 

"To  you,  to  everybody,  and  perhaps  most  of 
all,  to  myself." 

"Yourself?" 

"Yes,  for  I  know  myself  best,  and  I  realize 
that  I  need  it  most." 

"And  in  what  way  am  I  concerned  in  your 
preaching  of  the  Gospel,  Mr.  Barmore?  " 

"  In  every  way,  for  I  might  as  well  be  frank 
with  you  about  it;  I  cannot  preach  it  as  I  should 
preach  it  without — "  he  faltered — "you,"  he 
added  softly. 

"  And  do  you  want  me  for  an  example  or  an 
inspiration  ?  " 

The  man  hesitated  no  longer.  He  went  di- 
rect to  the  point.  He  leaned  close  to  her,  took 
her  hand  and  clasped  it  in  his  own. 

"  I  want  you  for  my  wife,  Miss  Wharton — 
Margaret,  I  may  call  you  that?  " 

"  Old  acquaintanceship  and  your  rectorial  posi- 
tion might  warrant  that,  Mr.  Barmore." 


KISSES  AND   BLOWS  43 

"  But  I  want  no  warrant  except  that  which 
affection  gives." 

"  I  do  not  love  you,  Mr.  Barmore." 
"No,  perhaps  not;  certainly  not  as  I  love  you, 
but — I  venture  to  hope  that  I  am  not  altogether 
indifferent  to  you,  and  that  my  hope  that  you 
will  eventually  love  me  is  justifiable.  Therefore,  I 
want  you  to  give  me  a  chance  to  turn  what  feeling 
you  have  for  me  into  something  stronger,  more 
abiding,  by  letting  me  prove  by  my  life's  devotion 
that  it  would  be  worth  while,  at  least,  to  try  to 
care — No,  don't  answer  me  yet,  let  me  speak. 
Ever  since  I  saw  you  for  the  first  time  in  the  con- 
gregation, when  you  came  back  for  your  first 
Christmas  vacation  from  college,  I  think  I  have 
loved  you.  I  am  sure  of  it.  A  man  in  my  position 
is  subject  to  many  disturbances,  influences,  tempta- 
tions, but  I  declare  to  you  solemnly  that  I  have 
grqwn  almost  to  worship  you  for  your  beauty  of 
person  and  character.  I  have  watched  you  in  your 
play,  in  your  work,  and  your  duty,  and  I  have 
found  you  altogether  admirable.  I  should  be  blind 
and  a  fool  if  I  did  not  love  you.  I  am  a  nervous, 


44  THE   BETTER   MAN 

sensitive  man.  With  you  beside  me  to  help  me 
there  are  no  heights  in  my  glorious  profession  to 
which  I  could  not  attain.  Will  you  be  my  wife  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Tell  me ;  there  is  no  one  else  that  you  love,  is 
there?" 

"  No,  not  in  the  way  in  which  you  mean." 

"  You  care  for  me  a  little,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Very  much ;  but  not  quite  in  the  way  in  which 
you  want." 

"  Do  you  reject  me,  Miss  Margaret?  "  asked  the 
man  miserably. 

"  By  no  means,"  was  the  instant  reply.  "  You 
say  you  love  me  deeply." 

"Say!"  he  exclaimed.      "I  do." 

"  I  admire  you,  and  I  respect  you,"  she  went  on, 
not  noticing  his  interruption.  "  I  think  I  share 
in  the  feeling  which  most  of  the  women  in  your 
congregation  entertain  for  you,  and  more,  per- 
haps. I  am  somewhat  tired  of  the  social  side  of 
life.  Work  with  you  has  its  attractions  for  me 
which  are  very  great " 

"Will  you  marry  me?" 


KISSES  AND  BLOWS  45 

"  Ah !  that  I  cannot  tell.  The  decision  means 
so  much " 

"  Yes,  it  means  so  much  to  me,  at  least,"  said 
the  man. 

"  And  I  am  not  prepared  to  make  it  now." 

Barmore  was  visibly  disappointed.  He  bore 
himself  manfully,  however. 

"Is  it  your  wish  that  I  should  not  trouble  you 
again?" 

"If  I  am  never  troubled  with  anything  worse 
than  your  love-making,"  she  smiled  brilliantly  at 
him,  "  I  shall  have  an  easy  life,  indeed." 

"  You  like  it?  "  he  asked  impetuously. 

And  the  smile  became  a  laugh. 

"  Mr.  Barmore,  who  wouldn't  like  it?  It  flat- 
ters my  pride,  and  fills  my  heart  with  a  certain 
satisfaction.  I  almost  think  that  perhaps  I  care 
more  than  I " 

He  bent  his  head  instantly  and  pressed  a  kiss 
on  her  hand,  which  she  had  allowed  to  lie  in  his. 
Was  he  not  a  handsome  and  gentle  wooer? 

"  I  know,"  he  said  with  true  and  unassuming 
humility,  "  that  I  am  in  no  way  a  match  for  you. 


46  THE  BETTER  MAN 

While  I  don't  have  to  depend  upon  my  clerical 
stipend  and  the  goodness  of  my  friends,  yet " 

"  Don't  say  anything  about  that  at  all,"  said  the 
girl,  "  don't  spoil  it.  If  I  marry  you  it  will  be 
because  I  love  you,  because  I  have  found  out  that 
you  are  the  only  man  on  earth  for  me,  because 
my  heart  responds  to  the  prompting  of  my  mind, 
and  because  I  should  be  the  proudest  and  hap- 
piest woman  on  earth  to  work  with  you  and  for 
you." 

"You  make  me  very  humble,  indeed,  Miss 
Wharton,"  said  the  man,  "  and  if  I  can  find  any 
way  to  make  myself  more  worthy  of  you,  I  shall 
follow  it.  I  cannot  preach  better  sermons,  yet 
I  might,  if  you  were  with  me  all  the  time.  I 
cannot  do  more  work.  Yes,  I  might,  if  this 
anxiety  as  to  whether  you  are  to  be  my  wife  or 
not  were  settled,  but  I  am  doing  my  best  for  you." 

"  Not  for  me  alone." 

"  No,"  said  the  man,  "  for  my  Master's  work 
as  well  as  for  you." 

"  That  is  why  I  care  as  much  for  you  as  I  do  " 
said  the  woman. 


KISSES  AND  BLOWS  47 

"  Now,  what  shall  be  our  future  relationship  ?  " 

"  What  it  has  been  before." 

"  No," — the  man  was  wiser  than  she — "  that 
it  can  never  be.  You  couldn't  look  at  me  again 
in  an  abstract  way.  You  would  always  be  saying 
in  your  mind,  there  is  a  man  who  loves  me,  there 
is  a  man  who  would  die  for  me,  there  is  a  man 
whose  greatest  desire  is  to  serve  me  and  care  for 
me  and  make  me  his  wife,  his  queen,  his  every- 
thing." 

"  And  do  you  think  that  I  did  not  know  that 
until  to-day?" 

"  What  do  you  mean?  " 

"  Why,  that  is  one  of  the  things  that  makes  me 
believe  I  do  care  for  you.  I  knew  that  you  loved 
me." 

"  And  you  let  me  go  on?  " 

"  You  have  a  way  about  you  that  is  very  diffi- 
cult to  stop,  Mr.  Barmore,"  answered  Miss  Whar- 
ton,  j'  and  I  am  not  sure  that  I  want  you  to  stop." 

"  Margaret,"  said  the  man,  coming  near  to 
her. 

He  had  risen  and  so  had  she.     She  trembled  a 


48  THE  BETTER  MAN 

little  before  him.  In  another  moment  he  would 
have  swept  her  to  his  breast,  but  the  worth  of  the 
man  came  to  the  rescue. 

"  I  won't  touch  you,"  he  said.  "  I  won't  take 
anything,  unless  I  may  have  all." 

His  renunciation  was  more  effective  than  any- 
thing else  he  could  have  done.  His  delicate  con- 
sideration for  her  moved  her  profoundly,  yet  was 
it  a  slight  sense  of  disappointment  that  swept  over 
her  at  his  restraint? 

"  You  are  very  good,"  said  the  girl,  realizing 
that  that  was  the  proper  thing  to  say,  whatever 
she  might  feel. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  man,  "  and  it  is  very  hard. 
We  can  never  be  as  we  were.  When  you  look 
at  me  you  will  think  of  these  things." 

"  And  when  you  look  at  me  ?  " 

"  I  shall  say,  there  is  a  woman  who  has  given 
me  hope,  who  has  opened  the  door  of  happiness  a 
little,  and  has  allowed  me  to  stand  there  and  look 
within  the  precious  confines,  the  paradise,  of  her 
heart,"  he  sighed,  and  yet  smiled  at  her  as  he 
spoke,  "  but  life  is  a  plain  everyday  thing,  Miss 


KISSES  AND  BLOWS  49 

Wharton.  A  modus  vivendi  in  our  case  is  nec- 
essary. What  is  to  be  done?" 

"  Why,  you  are  to " 

"  To  love  you,  of  course." 

"  And  I  am  to " 

"  Be  loved,  and  try  to  love  me,"  he  said. 

"  That  is  agreed,  then,"  said  the  girl,  smiling. 

"  But  what  about  other  people?  " 

"  Need  they  know  anything  about  it?  " 

"  I  can  go  on  loving  you.  Indeed,  I  couldn't 
help  it;  but  we  need  not  take  the  world  into  our 
confidence." 

"  No." 

"  Your  father  should  be  told,  though." 

"  I  have  no  mother,  and  my  father  is  my 
all." 

"  I  shouldn't  think  of  concealing  it  from  the 
General." 

"What  will  he  think  of  it?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  the  man  humbly;  "he  is 
very  fond  of  me,  I  am  sure,  and  Rector  never 
had  better  warden,  but  he  may  have  other  views, 
an  old-world  alliance." 


50  THE  BETTER  MAN 

"  I  can  relieve  your  mind  as  to  that,  Mr.  Bar- 
more." 

"How?" 

"  Several  not  unworthy  proffers  of  such  an  al- 
liance have  been  made  me,  and  I  have  heard  my 
father  say  something  about  American  girls  for 
American  men." 

"  I  hope  that  you  have  the  blood  of  your  father 
in  your  veins,  Miss  Margaret." 

11 1  hope  so." 

"  And  I  shall  speak  to  him  immediately,  and  in 
the  meantime " 

"  In  the  meantime,  we  must  both  go  on  quietly 
as  we  were  before,"  said  the  girl. 

"I  suppose  that  I  couldn't — you  wouldn't — it 
would  be  taking  advantage  of  you  to  ask  you,  but 
— will  you  let  me  kiss  you  just  once  ?  "  he  con- 
cluded, boyishly,  flushing  crimson  as  he  spoke. 

The  girl  shook  her  head. 

"  I  think  not.  I  would  rather  you  wouldn't," 
she  hesitated,  "  at  present." 

The  man  had  had  his  opportunity  a  few  minutes 
before  and  had  not  availed  himself  of  it,  through 


KISSES  AND   BLOWS  51 

rare  self-control,  and  it  should  not  occur  again 
that  day,  she  thought  willfully. 

"  You  are  right.  I  got  what  I  came  for — 
permission  to  love  you,  and  a  right  to  hope.  I 
scarcely  dared  expect  as  much  as  that." 

This  humility  was  delightful  to  her,  for  she 
knew  that  he  had  but  to  drop  the  handkerchief  at 
their  feet  and  many  of  the  maidens  in  his  con- 
gregation would  have  picked  it  up  with  avidity. 
Barmore  threw  back  his  head  and  continued  in 
his  lover-like  way: 

"  I  am  sure  I  shall  win  you  in  the  end." 

The  girl  looked  at  him,  impressed  with  a  bold- 
ness which  his  previous  humility  of  voice  and  bear- 
ing only  served  to  accentuate. 

"  I  hope  so,  too,"  she  said  at  last,  extending 
her  hand. 

"  You  make  me  very  happy,  Miss  Margaret," 
he  said,  enfolding  it  in  both  his  own. 

Then  resolutely  he  left  her,  bowing  gracefully 
to  her  as  he  went  out  of  the  door. 

"  How  well  he  does  his  part,"  thought  the  girl 
as  she  sat  down  once  more.  "  Better  than  any 


52  THE   BETTER   MAN 

other  man  in  my  experience,  at  least.  How  hand- 
some he  was,  how  gentle,  how  generous.  He 
might  have  kissed  me;  I  shouldn't  have  minded  it; 
indeed,  I  should  have  liked  it.  Mrs.  Lionel  Bar- 
more,  Mrs.  Margaret  Wharton  Barmore — that 
doesn't  sound  badly.  He  is  the  manliest  man  that 
has  ever  offered  me  his  hand,  and  I  like  him  very 
much — more  than  I  knew — I  wonder " 

She  sat  musing  a  long  time,  a  warm  glow  around 
her  heart,  quite  an  acceptable  substitute  for  the 
deeper  thrill  which  authors  dwell  upon  in  stories 
of  the  heart. 

Engrossed  in  her  thoughts,  she  took  no  note 
of  the  time,  and  it  was  with  a  start  of  surprise 
that  she  heard  a  knock  at  the  door.  It  was  the 
maid,  not  with  a  card  this  time,  who  stated 
with  something  akin  to  disdain  in  her  voice  that 
a  Mr.  Stebbing  awaited  her  pleasure  in  the  recep- 
tion-room. What  a  difference  there  was  in  the 
two  men,  she  thought,  as  Mr.  Stebbing  came  in. 
Barmore  had  been  faultlessly  groomed,  wearing 
his  clothes  with  an  air  of  distinction,  which  made 
them  an  integral  part  of  himself.  Stebbing  wore 


KISSES  AND   BLOWS  53 

his  clothes  to  cover  his  nakedness  only,  not  to 
adorn  his  person,  and  they  simply  looked  the  pur- 
pose they  served. 

Stebbing  entered  the  room  bluntly,  walked  over 
to  her,  grabbed  her  hand,  and  shook  it  fiercely; 
then  he  sat  down  upon  the  straightest  and  most 
uncomfortable  chair  in  the  room,  crossed  his  legs, 
and  began  without  further  preliminaries. 

"  Miss  Wharton,  I  came  here  this  afternoon 
to  tell  you  that  I  love  you." 

There  was  absolutely  no  grace  or  charm,  not 
the  faintest  tinge  of  romance  in  his  voice  or  look. 
But  there  was  a  plain,  blunt,  straightforward 
veracity  in  his  manner  which  awakened  strange 
and  mingled  feelings  in  the  person  of  his  auditor. 
Thinking  of  Barmore  as  she  was,  she  might  have 
avoided  or  staved  off  the  declaration,  but  he  gave 
her  no  chance ;  his  bludgeon-like  course  completely 
paralyzed  her  finesse.  She  wanted  to  laugh,  and 
she  wanted  to  cry.  She  was  startled  and  shocked 
but  by  no  means  displeased.  For  a  moment,  she 
secretly  enjoyed  the  fascinating  pleasure  of  com- 
paring the  one  man  with  the  other.  She  had 


•>  -_ . 


54  THE   BETTER   MAN 

admitted  at  once  that  she  knew  that  Barmore 
loved  her,  yet  she  scarcely  knew  how  to  meet 
Stebbing's  attack. 

"  You  surprise  me,"  she  began. 

"  Miss  Wharton,  let  us  put  aside  conventionali- 

A  dangerous  proceeding  that,  and  if  Stebbing 
had  enjoyed  more  experience  he  would  have  real- 
ized that  conventionalities  are  not  to  be  put  aside 
except  in  some  Garden  of  Eden,  and  only  there 
until  the  Devil  enters. 

"Let  us  get  down  to  facts,  Miss  Wharton; 
frankly,  I  don't  believe  that  you  are  in  the  least 
surprised." 

"Mr.  Stebbing!" 

"  You  must  have  known  that  I  loved  you.  They 
say  every  woman  knows  that.  I  am  not  experi- 
enced in  love,  or  with  people  of  your  kind.  There 
are  good  people  down  at  St.  Osmund's,  but — well 
— different."  He  made  the  admission  fiercely,  as 
if  it  wounded  his  pride.  "And  I  am  different. 
I  am  like  them,  but  I  am  sure  you  must  have 
known  that  I  cared  a  great  deal  for  you.  I  know 


KISSES  AND   BLOWS  55 

it  myself,  and  I  fear  that,  like  the  fool  I  am,  I 
have  betrayed  it." 

"  Is  it  an  evidence  of  your  folly,  Mr.  Stebbing, 
to  love  me?  "  she  asked,  deftly  avoiding  his  accu- 
sation. 

"  It  is." 

"  I  have  never  received  so  flattering  a  declara- 
tion in  all  my  life." 

"  Now,  don't  be  sarcastic,"  said  the  man. 
"  There  is  nothing,  is  there,  to  call  forth  sarcasm 
in  the  love  of  an  honest  man,  however  humble  he 
may  be,  however  unworthy  he  may  be,  for  a  pure 
and  lovely  woman  like  you?  " 

41  Thank  you." 

"  Yes,"  he  went  on  roughly,  "  and  believe  it 
or  not  as  you  like,  I'd  care  for  you  if  I  picked 
you  up  out  of  the  gutter — I'd  love  you  just  the 
same." 

"  Well,  that  would  be  folly,"  said  the  woman, 
yet  with  a  contradictory  thrill  of  approval  and 
appreciation. 

"  It  is  folly.  Wherein  is  it  right  that  a  man 
of  my  birth  and  station,  a  man  with  no  worldly 


56  THE   BETTER   MAN 

goods  with  which  to  bless  himself,  perhaps  I  had 
better  call  myself  a  man  who  has  devoted  his 
life  to  poor,  humble  people,  and  who  is  going  to 
continue  to  devote  his  life  to  them — don't  forget 
that,  Miss  Wharton,  don't  make  any  mistake  about 
that." 

"  I  should  not  want  you  to  cease,  Mr.  Steb- 
bing." 

"Well,  that  is  good.  Now,  why  on  earth 
should  I  care  for  a  butterfly  like  you?  " 

"  Do  you  think  it  quite  fair  to  call  me  alto- 
gether a  butterfly?" 

"  Compared  to  me,  you  are." 

"  Ah  I  yes,  perhaps,  but  is  there  no  other  stand- 
ard, important  as  is  yours,  in  this  world?  Cer- 
tainly you  are  not  going  to  be  rude,  as  well  as 
foolish." 

"  You  do  the  very  best  you  know  how  over  at 
Barmore's  mission,  and  I  never  hear  of  you  in- 
dulging in  some  of  the  frivolities  of  your  social 
circle.  I  suppose,  according  to  your  lights,  you 
think  you  are  a  useful  woman,  perhaps  almost  as 
useful  as  you  are  beautiful.  I  believe  you  are 


KISSES  AND   BLOWS  57 

a  true  woman," — and  nothing  that  had  been  said 
to  Miss  Wharton  for  a  long  time  gave  her  such 
satisfaction  as  that  tribute  from  the  man  beside 
her — "  I  was  going  to  say  that,  if  you  hadn't  been 
a  true  woman,  I  shouldn't  have  loved  you,  but  I 
might  as  well  tell  you  that  I  would  have  loved 
you  no  matter  what  you  were,  as  I  said  before." 

"  And  why  do  you  tell  me  this?  " 

"  Because  it  is  the  only  honorable  thing  for  me 
to  do.  When  a  man  loves  a  woman  the  only  thing 
for  him  to  do,  according  to  my  ideas,  is  to  go 
and  tell  her  so,  and  offer  himself  to  her,  ask  her 
to  marry  him,  and  give  her  a  chance  to  reject  him. 
Will  you  marry  me?  " 

"  I  will  not." 

"  I  didn't  think  you  would.     Good-afternoon." 

"Wait  a  moment,  Mr.  Stebbing,"  cried  the 
woman,  rising  also,  startled  by  the  abrupt  way  in 
which  he  rose  for  his  departure. 

"What  should  I  wait  for?  are  you  going  to 
change  your  mind?" 

"  Women  have  done  so,"  she  said,  striving  to 
jest. 


58  THE   BETTER  MAN 

Stebbing  turned,  walked  very  close  to  her,  and 
stared  into  her  eyes.  She  sustained  his  gaze  un- 
flinchingly. She  wondered  what  he  saw  there; 
she  did  not  quite  know  what  there  was  to  see.  He 
made  a  quick  movement  toward  her.  She  never 
moved  a  muscle;  the  situation  of  an  hour  before 
was  duplicated.  Would  Stebbing  dare?  The 
thought  had  barely  come  to  her  mind  before  he 
did  it.  Scarcely  realizing  how  or  why,  she  found 
herself  in  his  arms,  his  face  dangerously  near  her 
own. 

"Mr.  Stebbing!"  she  cried,  "I  have  neither 
done  nor  said  anything  to  warrant  this." 

"  You  said  you  might  change  your  mind." 

His  grasp  relaxed  slightly,  but  still  held  her  fast. 

She  could  feel  his  arm  around  her  tremble.  She 
trembled  a  little  herself. 

"  I  said  that  it  was  possible,  but  it  has  not 
occurred  to  me." 

She  did  not  repulse  him  as  she  spoke.  Her 
words  and  actions  did  not  match.  The  contact 
with  her  went  to  his  head.  He  trembled.  He 
lost  control  of  himself.  He  was  a  man  of  strong 


KISSES  AND  BLOWS  59 

feelings.  He  held  in  his  arms  the  woman  he  loved 
passionately.  He  forgot  everything  but  that. 

"I  am  a  brute  as  well  as  a  fool,  Miss  Whar- 
ton.  I  know  that  you  can  never  think  of  me  as 
a  husband,  that  you  would  be  most  unhappy  with 
me  and  my  poor  if  you  did  not  love  me  as  I  love 
you,"  he  went  on  hotly.  "  I  shall  never  again 
approach  you  on  this  subject,  perhaps  I  shall  never 
again  be  in  your  presence,  but  I  have  you  now 
in  my  arms  for  the  first  time  and  last  time  in 
my  life,  and  I  am  going  to  kiss  you." 

"Mr.  Stebbing,"  said  the  girl,  very  pale;  she 
would  not  struggle  with  him;  she  would  not  de- 
scend to  such  vulgarity,  and  in  his  strong  arms 
it  would  be  useless;  "  if  you  kiss  me  it  will  be  at 
your  peril." 

For  answer  he  drew  her  closer  to  him,  bent  his 
head  and  pressed  his  lips  again  and  again  on 
her  own.  She  stood  passive  in  his  embrace 
until  he  released  her,  and  stared  at  her  boldly, 
brutally. 

"  You  coward,"  she  said  in  a  low,  tense  voice. 
"  You  call  yourself  a  clergyman,  a  minister  of 


60  THE   BETTER   MAN 

God — you  have  not  the  first  instinct  of  a  gentle- 
man, let  alone  these  other  things." 

She  stared  at  him,  she  was  almost  as  tall  as  he, 
with  a  fierce  intensity  that  pierced  into  his  very 
soul.  He  had  been  mad,  drunk  with  his  love  for 
her.  He  had  started  to  go;  he  would  have  left 
her  without  a  word,  but  that  thoughtless  remark 
of  hers,  the  way  in  which  she  put  it  to  him; 
he  had  caught  her  in  his  arms;  she  had  not 
resisted. 

"My  God!"  he  said,  "what  have  I  done!" 

"That  you  cannot  undo,"  returned  the  woman; 
"  you  have  shamed  me,  humbled  me.  It  was  not 
the  kiss,  but  the  way  in  which  it  was  taken.  Well, 
have  you  nothing  to  say  ?  " 

"  Nothing." 

"  Can  you  make  no  excuse  for  yourself  ?  have 
you  not  even  the  grace  to  apologize?  Do  you 
realize  what  you  have  done  ?  " 

"  Realize!  "  said  the  man,  lifting  his  head;  "  I 
shall  never  forget  it  as  long  as  I  live." 

It  was  the  flash  of  his  eye  and  the  spirit  in 
which  he  said  it  which  told  her  just  what  his 


KISSES  AND   BLOWS  61 

remembrance  would  be.  He  was  actually  tri- 
umphing over  it,  joying  in  it ! 

"  Have  you  no  sense  of  shame?  "  she  cried. 

"I  have;  you  were  in  my  arms  and  I  did 
kiss  you.  I  deserve  to  be  scourged  for  it,  but  I 
cannot  forget  it,  and  I  don't  want  to  forget  it. 
I  shall  remember  it  as  long  as  I  live,  and  there  is 
nothing " 

"  So  you  won't  apologize?  " 

"  What  good  would  that  do  ?  I  would  grovel 
at  your  feet  if  it  would  make  any  difference. 
Would  it?" 

"No,"  said  the  girl;  "nothing  will  make  any 
difference." 

"  There  is  one  thing  that  can  remedy  that,"  he 


"And  what  is  that?" 

"  That  you  love  me." 

"  Love  you !  "  cried  Miss  Wharton. 

She  stared  at  him  hard  for  a  moment,  and  then 
sahk  in  a  chair,  buried  her  face  in  her  hands,  and 
burst  into  tears.  Why?  Stebbing  asked  him- 
self that  question,  but  he  was  not  sufficiently  versed 


62  THE   BETTER  MAN 

in  the  ways  of  women  to  understand  what  was 
in  that  girl's  mind,  and  why  she  so  strangely  lost 
her  self-command  and  wept. 

"  Miss  Wharton,"  he  cried.  He  could  sustain 
her  anger,  and  could  even  bear  her  scorn  and  con- 
tempt, but  he  could  not  bear  to  see  her  grief,  her 
tears.  "  Oh !  "  he  said,  walking  up  and  down  the 
room,  wringing  his  hands,  "  what  can  I  do,  what 
can  I  say?  I  did  not  come  here  for  this  purpose, 
believe  that;  I  intended  to  go,  but  you  called  me 
back." 

"Are  you  going  to  place  the  blame  on  me?" 
she  faltered. 

"No!  no!  "he  cried. 

"  And  you  are  sorry  ?     Say  you  are  sorry." 

Her  words  came  muffled  through  her  hands. 

"  I  cannot  say  it.  I  am  not  sorry.  I  will 
live  and  die  in  the  recollection  of  that  one  kiss. 
I  meant  to  act  a  manly  part,  to  tell  you  what  I 
told  you,  because  I  had  to  tell  you  or  die.  I 
could  not  do  my  work  until  I  got  it  over  with." 

"Got  over  what?" 

"  Until  I  submitted  my  feeling  to  you." 


She  buried  her  face  in  her  hands  and  burst  into 
tears 


KISSES  AND  BLOWS  63 

"  You  did  not  hope  for  anything?  " 

"  Of  course  not ;  every  instinct  told  me  that 
it  was  madness,  but  a  man  without  hope  would  be 
an  animal.  Perhaps  I  do  an  injustice  to  the  ani- 
mals, for  even  a  dog  hopes  for  his  master's  caress ; 
but  I  felt  sure  there  would  be  no  hope  for  me. 
This  is  not  a  matter  of  sudden  birth,  Miss  Whar- 
ton.  I  think  I  have  loved  you  since  you  came 
to  see  me  at  the  mission  years  ago,  when  I  treated 
you  so  badly.  I  have  treated  you  rudely  ever 
since,  and  now  you  have  to  hear  the  culmination." 

"  Yes." 

"  I  love  you  under  rude  conditions;  I  come  from 
rude  people.  We  have  had  such  a  hard  battle  to 
fight  down  at  St.  Osmund's " 

"  You  do  yourself  an  injustice,"  said  the  woman, 
looking  at  him ;  "I  know  what  you  are  doing 
down  there.  I  know  that  you  are  an  angel  of 
light  to  those  poor  people.  We  hear  of  your 
work  at  St.  Hilda's  mission,  and  I  have  heard 
you  pfeach  at  times." 

"  Do  you  think  I  have  not  seen  you?  "  said  the 
man.  "  God  forgive  me ;  sometimes  I  almost 


64  THE   BETTER   MAN 

fear  I  have  preached  for  your  approval,  rather 
than  that  of  my  Master,  and — but  I  will  go 
now." 

"  And  you  won't  apologize,  you  won't  explain, 
you  won't  justify  yourself?  " 

"  I  will  say  or  do  anything  you  like,  except  to 
admit  that  I  am  sorry." 

The  girl  stared  at  him  as  if  fascinated. 

"  I  am  not  the  coward  you  think  I  am."  He 
flung  his  hand  up  and  brought  it  down  with  a 
characteristic  gesture.  "  I  would  like — "  he 
went  over  a  little  nearer  to  her,  "  I  would  like  to 
kiss  you  again." 

"But  you  won't!"  she  cried,  shrinking  back 
from  him. 

"  No;  have  no  fear;  I  won't.  I  might  kiss  you 
against  your  will  once,  but  not  a  second  time.  It 
is  a  good  thing  that  you  don't  love  me,  Miss 
Wharton." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  you  are  too  fragile  and  delicate  a 
creature  for  a  man  like  me.  I  love  like  I  battle 
— with  all  my  heart,  and  soul,  and  strength." 


KISSES  AND   BLOWS  65 

"  Wait,"  she  said,  coming  to  a  sudden  resolu- 
tion which  involved  his  punishment,  "  this  is  not 
the  first  offer  of  marriage  I  have  had  this  after- 
noon." She  was  determined  to  make  him  suffer 
now,  although  in  doing  so  she  would  punish  her- 
self. There  was  that  turmoil  within  her  heart 
that  frightened  her.  She  was  not  sure  as  to  her 
own  feelings,  but,  if  possible,  she  was  going  to 
make  this  man  suffer  for  her  own  indecision.  And 
she  was  going  to  settle  a  question  in  one  way,  lest 
her  heart  might  make  her  decide  it  another. 

"  I  have  an  appointment  at  the  church  at  six 
o'clock,"  he  said. 

"  Your  appointment  can  wait.  Your  first  duty 
is  to  me;  you  owe  me  something  now." 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so." 

"  As  I  said,  this  is  not  the  first  offer  of  marriage 
I  have  had  to-day." 

"Do  you  get  them  every  day?"  gritted  out 
the  man. 

"  Bvery  day  I  want  them,"  she  returned  with 
equal  vigor,  "but  this  one  I  am  inclined  to  ac- 
cept." 


66  THE   BETTER  MAN 

"  I  wish  him  joy,"  said  Stebbing  in  anything 
but  a  joyous  or  whole-hearted  way. 

"  I  will  give  you  an  opportunity  to  do  it  in 
person.  You  won't  run  away?" 

"  I  am  not  of  the  runaway  kind,  Miss  Whar- 
ton,"  said  the  man  grimly. 

"  Very  well,  sit  down."  She  turned  to  the  tele- 
phone and  called  the  number  of  Barmore's  study. 
She  knew  that  the  vesper  service  would  about  be 
over,  and  he  would  probably  be  there.  In  a 
minute  she  heard  his  voice. 

"Mr.  Barmore?" 

"  Yes,  Miss  Margaret." 

"  You  asked  me  a  question  this  afternoon." 

"  Yes,  Miss  Margaret." 

"  Can  you  come  to  the  house  at  once?  I  will 
give  you  my  answer  now." 

"  I  will  be  there  in  five  minutes." 

The  church  was  only  a  block  from  the  Whar- 
ton  residence.  She  hung  up  the  receiver  and 
faced  Stebbing. 

"  Is  it  Barmore  ?  "  asked  the  man,  low,  hoarsely, 
and  agonizedly. 


KISSES  AND  BLOWS  67 

"  It  is.     Have  you  any  objection?  " 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  What  have  I  got  to  do  with  it  ?  In  pity,  let 
me  go." 

"  You  did  not  let  me  go  when  you  had  me  in 
your  arms  a  few  moments  since.  You  had  no 
pity  in  your  heart,  and  there  is  none  in  mine.  I 
request  you  to  stay.  You  can  go  if  you  wish. 
I  can't  prevent  your  going.  I  am  too  weak  for 
that." 

"  I  will  remain,"  said  the  man. 

He  turned  away  from  her,  staring  at  nothing, 
which  gave  her  abundant  opportunity  to  search  his 
face  unnoticed.  What  did  she  see  there?  What 
did  the  turmoil  in  her  heart  let  her  see?  The 
strain  was  almost  unbearable.  When  Barmore 
came  into  the  room  unannounced,  the  evidences  of 
the  conflict  were  too  patent  to  be  ignored.  His 
enthusiastic  greeting  to  her  and  his  friendly  word 
to  Stebbing  died  on  his  lips.  For  once  his  self- 
possession  deserted  him.  He  stood  staring  from 
one  to  the  other. 

"  Mr.  Barmore,"  said  the  girl,  "  you  asked  me 


68  THE   BETTER   MAN 

this  afternoon  to  be  your  wife.  Mr.  Stebbing  a 
little  while  ago  made  me  the  same  proposition. 
Between  you  and " 

Barmore  raised  his  hand. 

"  Pardon  me,  Miss  Wharton,  but  wouldn't  it 
be  better  for  one  of  us  to  retire  and  let  you  give 
your  answer  in  private  to  the  other,  if  you  have 
elected  to  honor  either  of  us  ?  " 

He  had  a  strained,  pale  look  on  his  face,  for 
he  loved  this  woman  with  all  his  heart,  and  he 
did  not  underrate  Stebbing,  as  others  did.  He 
recognized  that  it  was  not  impossible  for  a  woman 
like  Miss  Wharton  to  love  a  man  like  Stebbing, 
or  even  that  she  might  prefer  Stebbing  to  him. 

"  I  have  decided,  and  I  choose  to  announce  my 
decision  here." 

"  Miss  Wharton,"  interrupted  Stebbing,  "  have 
not  you  punished  me  enough?  " 

"  Is  it  I,  Margaret?  "  asked  Barmore  joyously. 

11  Yes,"  said  the  girl;  "  I  will  be  your  wife." 

She  had  risen  as  he  came  near.  She  put  her 
hand  on  his  shoulder.  He  rose  almost  dazed. 
She  lifted  her  face  to  him  and  kissed  him  lightly. 


KISSES  AND   BLOWS  69 

"Poor  old  Mark!"  cried  Barmore,  starting 
over  toward  his  brother  clergyman  and  extending 
his  hand. 

His  first  thought  had  been  for  his  disappointed 
rival,  and  Miss  Wharton  admired  him  for  that. 
It  almost  affirmed  her  judgment  for  the  folly  she 
had  just  perpetrated. 

"  You  can  go  now,  Mr.  Stebbing,"  she  said  con- 
temptuously. 

"  Barmore,"  said  Stebbing,  not  taking  the 
other's  hand,  "  you  don't  know  what  a  coward  I 
have  been  this  afternoon." 

"  I  wondered,"  said  Miss  Wharton,  "  if  you 
would  have  the  manliness  to  confess  it  before  a 
man." 

"  I  don't  believe  you  can  be  a  coward,  Mark," 
said  Barmore,  smiling  from  the  woman  he  loved 
to  his  friend. 

"  You  don't  know  what  a  man  will  do  when 
he  loves  a  woman." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"  This  afternoon,  in  this  very  room,  like  the 
brute  that  I  am,  I  took  the  woman  you  are  to 


70  THE   BETTER   MAN 

marry  in  my  arms  and  kissed  her  against  her 
will." 

"  Mr.  Barmore,  he  was  mad,  he "  cried  the 

girl  suddenly,  with  what  instinct  for  apology  and 
explanation  that  might  soften  the  blunt  declara- 
tion she  could  not  say. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Barmore. 

"  Yes,"  said  Stebbing,  "  I  was  mad,  but " 

Barmore  stared  at  him,  then  suddenly  closed  his 
hand  and  struck  him  full  in  the  face,  his  own  sud- 
denly engorged  with  blood,  a  red  foil  to  Steb- 
bing's  ghastly  pallor.  Miss  Wharton  screamed 
faintly. 

"  Oh !  oh !  "  she  cried,  an  agonized  note  of  pain 
and  protest  in  her  voice;  this  was  not  what  she 
had  fancied  would  be  the  course  pursued. 

Stebbing  seemed  to  shrink  into  himself  and 
gather  himself  together.  In  another  moment  he 
would  have  been  at  the  throat  of  the  other  man. 

"  Well,  you  are  a  coward,"  cried  Barmore,  fac- 
ing him  undauntedly. 

The  sweat  stood  on  the  brow  of  the  plainer 
man.  His  face  was  bloodless  with  the  exception 


KISSES  AND   BLOWS  71 

of  a  few  drops  on  his  lip,  which  the  force  of 
the  blow  had  cut.  Mechanically  he  picked  up  a 
handkerchief  that  lay  on  the  table,  and  pressed  it 
to  his  mouth  once,  twice,  then  dropped  it  to  the 
floor. 

"  You  are  right,"  he  said,  simply  looking  at  his 
whilom  friend.  "  Strike  me  again,  I  deserve  it." 

"  I  never  want  to  see  you  or  hear  of  you  or 
speak  to  you  again,"  said  Barmore.  "  Margaret," 
he  turned  to  her,  took  her  hand,  and  kissed  it 
with  infinite  grace,  "  I  loved  him  almost  as  I 
do  you.  Would  God  I  could  have  spared  you 
that!" 

"  You  can  go  now,"  said  the  girl  faintly. 

Without  a  word  Stebbing  turned  and  stumbled, 
one  would  almost  say  he  groped  his  way  blindly 
out.  At  the  door  he  turned  and  gave  her  one 
awful,  stricken  look  before  he  left. 

"And  you,  too,  Mr.  Barmore,"  said  the  girl. 
"  It  is  almost  more  than  I  can  stand.  Will  you 
leave  ^ne  alone  now  ?  Come  to  me  to-morrow." 

She  drooped  with  fatigue,  with  the  nervous 
strain  she  had  gone  through.  He  was  considera- 


72  THE   BETTER   MAN 

tion  at  once.  He  made  no  attempt  to  touch 
her. 

"  I  shall  come  to  you  in  the  morning.  Good- 
by,  and  God  bless  you !  " 

When  he  had  gone  she  stood  still,  motionless, 
where  he  had  left  her.  Her  heart  pounded  so 
that  the  room  seemed  to  heave.  Her  eye  fell 
upon  a  dash  of  white  on  the  floor,  the  handkerchief, 
her  own.  There  were  drops  of  blood  on  it. 
Slowly,  and  with  the  fascinated  gaze  of  the  bird 
at  the  oncoming  serpent,  she  stepped  toward  it, 
she  bent  over  it,  she  caught  it  in  her  hands,  and 
pressed  it  to  her  heart.  She  sank  down  as  before. 
She  buried  her  face  in  her  hands,  beneath  her  own 
lips  the  handkerchief,  stained  with  the  blood  of 
the  man  who  loved  her,  and  who  had  insulted  her, 
whom  she  had  punished,  and  whom  she  could 
never,  never  forget. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  DEAD  HAND  ON  THE  LIVING  HEAD 

STEBBING  was  in  a  savage  mood  as  he  left  the 
house  and  walked  down  the  street  that  afternoon. 
His  predominating  emotion  was  one  of  bitter  self- 
contempt.  Barmore,  in  like  situation,  would  have 
told  himself  that  he  had  derogated  from  his  stand- 
ard as  a  gentleman.  Stebbing  said  to  himself 
that  he  had  ceased  to  be  a  man.  He  felt  this 
for  two  reasons.  He  had  insulted  a  woman — a 
woman  who  could  not  resent  it — and  he  had  in 
turn  been  insulted  himself  without  being  able  to 
resent  it.  A  strange  sort  of  sympathy  for  her 
mingled  with  his  own  bitter  self-contempt.  He 
had  been  false  entirely  to  his  conception  of  that 
Master  whom  he  did  truly  try  to  serve,  in  spite 
of  all  his  faults  and  imperfections. 

He  tried  his  best  to  hate  Barmore,  but  in  spite 
of  himself  admiration  at  his  friend's  prompt,  blunt, 
and  effective  action  rose  in  his  heart.  He  was 

73 


74  THE   BETTER   MAN 

possessed  of  a  keen  sense  of  justice;  he  admitted 
that  he  had  received  less  than  he  deserved.  Al- 
though he  loved  Barmore  and  admired  him,  he 
had  had  an  uneasy  consciousness  that  in  some  way 
his  boyhood  friend  would  not  measure  up  to  his 
opportunities  in  the  demands  of  a  great  crisis.  He 
had  done  so  fully  in  this  instance.  There  was 
some  consolation,  too,  in  the  fact  that  Barmore 
had  also  forgotten  his  profession  when  confronted 
by  ugly  and  naked  conditions.  Priests  and  other 
men  were  of  like  passions  after  all ! 

Stebbing's  lips  still  felt  sore.  He  laid  his  hand 
upon  them,  and  as  he  did  so  a  quick  thought  rushed 
to  his  brain.  He  had  held  in  his  arms  the  woman 
he  loved.  However  it  had  come  about,  upon 
whom  had  rested  the  blame,  the  fact  itself  could 
not  be  denied.  With  an  added  feeling  of  shame 
at  his  spiritual  obduracy,  he  realized  that  he  did 
not  want  to  deny  it.  That  pressure  of  his  lips 
upon  hers!  And — the  question  would  obtrude  it- 
self upon  him — was  there  a  pressure  in  return? 
would  forever  abide  with  him. 

He  was  not  learned  in  the  ways  of  women.    He 


DEAD  HAND  ON  LIVING  HEAD    75 

lacked  that  most  necessary  quality  to  a  clergyman 
— ability  to  read  the  feminine  mind  and  heart. 
But  even  to  his  obtuse  perceptions  a  consciousness 
was  dawning  that  in  some  way  the  woman  he 
loved  did  care  for  him,  that  she  was  not  indiffer- 
ent to  him.  She  had  treated  him  as  he  deserved, 
she  inflicted  upon  him  the  keenest  possible  punish- 
ment for  his  insolence  by  giving  herself  to  another 
before  his  eyes,  but  she  had  spared  him  the  crown- 
ing humiliation  of  relating  to  that  other  his  own 
atrocious  conduct.  He  had  done  that  himself  in  a 
moment  of  impulse,  which  he  did  not  even  now 
regret,  although  it  had  brought  that  one  blow. 

Why  had  she  spared  him?  His  experiences 
with  the  women  whom  he  met  most  frequently,  the 
poor  and  humble  of  his  congregation,  by  such  of 
their  actions  as  he  had  observed,  afforded  him  no 
answer  to  such  a  question,  although  any  one  of 
them  could  have  answered  it  if  he  had  directly 
asked  them.  She  had  spared  him;  could  she — 
was  it  possible? — not  that,  she  was  too  true  a 
woman,  so  he  thought  at  least,  to  give  herself  to 
one  man  if  she  had  the  faintest  degree  of  affection 


fj6  THE  BETTER  MAN 

for  another,  and  yet — he  strove  to  put  such  wild 
thoughts  out  of  his  being. 

He  always  walked  rapidly  through  the  streets. 
This  time  he  had  plunged  along  at  a  frightful 
pace,  avoiding  pedestrians  and  vehicles  as  if  by 
instinct.  He  did  not  know  where  he  was  going, 
but  habit  had  led  him  in  familiar  paths,  and  pres- 
ently he  found  himself  walking  the  streets  of  the 
meaner  quarter  of  the  town  where  he  was  so  well 
known  and  so  beneficent  a  factor  in  the  popular 
life.  Really  not  even  he  himself  fully  understood 
or  rightly  estimated  his  own  influence.  Men 
hailed  him  with  hearty  cordiality,  women  smiled 
at  him  with  wistful  and  kindly  affection,  children 
precipitated  themselves  from  dark,  dirty  doorways 
and  clustered  about  him. 

At  first  he  walked  along  as  one  in  a  dream, 
paying  little  attention  to  anything,  mechanically 
acknowledging  the  salutations,  but  presently  he 
awoke  to  the  meaning  of  the  situation.  If  these 
simple  people  knew  how  he  had  acted,  how  he 
had  failed,  they  would  be  the  first  to  condemn  him. 
Except  among  the  most  abandoned  of  the  race 


DEAD  HAND  ON  LIVING  HEAD   77 

chivalry  is  a  well-developed  instinct.  He  had  be- 
trayed the  high  standard  he  had  sought  to  set  up 
before  them.  There  came  to  him  remembrances 
of  severity  he  had  visited  upon  those  that  had 
failed  in  the  same  test.  He  would  never  be 
severe  in  that  way  again.  If  you  would  know 
what  is  in  a  man,  you  must  crush  him  down,  he 
had  often  said,  and  Mark  Stebbing  was  now  pros- 
trated beneath  the  cross  of  his  own  rearing.  What 
was  in  him?  He  wondered. 

He  felt  that  he  could  not  go  to  the  church  that 
night.  By  this  time  he  had  raised  up  for  him- 
self helpers  who  could  be  trusted  to  carry  on  things 
in  his  absence.  The  work  would  not  suffer  be- 
cause he  was  away.  He  turned  and  moved  off  to 
the  eastward.  Out  of  his  district  was  a  certain 
shady,  pleasant  city  square,  miles  uptown.  This 
place  was  far  enough  away  from  his  people  for 
him  to  be  unknown  to  those  who  would  be  apt 
to  congregate  there.  Poor,  wretched  wrecks  of 
humanity  these  would  be,  who  after  nightfall 
huddled  on  the  park  benches,  until  told  to  move 
on ;  followers  of  bread  lines,  sitting  listlessly  watch- 


78  THE   BETTER   MAN 

ing  the  fountains,  staring  upon  the  pleasure-seek- 
ers passing  up  and  down  the  great,  bright,  bril- 
liantly-lighted street  off  to  the  side.  He  would  go 
there  himself — a  wreck  of  high  purposes,  a  wreck 
of  fine  impulses. 

If  he  could  have  gone  into  the  country  among 
the  hills,  which  reminded  him  of  his  boyhood  days, 
he  would  have  gladly  done  it,  but  for  miles  and 
miles  in  every  direction  there  were  only  houses 
and  men.  He  had  eaten  nothing,  he  wanted  noth- 
ing, but  the  long  tramp  through  the  deserted  busi- 
ness section,  for  it  was  now  late  in  the  evening, 
that  intervened  between  the  locality  of  his  mission 
and  the  uptown  park,  while  it  tired  him,  steadied 
him. 

He  saw  things  more  clearly.  He  did  not  mini- 
mize his  own  offense,  but  he  realized  that  it  usually 
takes  more  than  one  failure  to  make  shipwreck  of 
a  career.  There  might  be  some  way  in  which 
he  could  atone — not  to  her — he  could  never  atone 
to  her,  but  to  his  ideal  for  this  lapse.  He  would 
find  it,  and  he  would  take  it,  and  perhaps  some 
day  when  he  had  regained  his  self-respect,  he 


DEAD  HAND  ON  LIVING  HEAD    79 

might  by  some  means  induce  her  to  forgive  him. 
She  would  be  Barmore's  wife,  and  he  did  not  dream 
before,  although  he  had  already  endured  with  a 
certain  grim  determination  the  sling  and  the  arrow 
of  contempt  and  hate,  how  keen  and  terrible  a 
heart  pang  that  reflection  produced. 

Barmore's  wife!  He  loved  and  admired  Bar- 
more,  but  somehow  he  could  not  conceive  of  him 
as  worthy  of  Margaret  Wharton.  A  flush  of 
shame  came  to  him  with  that  thought.  Was  that 
selfishness?  Was  he  himself  more  worthy  of  her 
than  the  other  was?  He  could  only  admit  that 
Barmore  had  played  the  man — he  had  not.  It 
would  be  a  fine  match,  he  meditated  bitterly — 
youth,  wealth,  position,  culture.  He  groaned. 
Had  he  not  put  himself  out  of  the  pale  of  con- 
sideration of  decent  people?  Well,  Margaret 
Wharton's  future  was  no  longer  a  consideration 
of  his.  There  was  no  friendship  now,  and  never 
could  be,  between  him  and  the  pair;  they  would 
never  admit  him  to  it.  Strive  as  he  might,  he 
would  never  care  to  witness  their  happiness. 

He  was  a  man  of  terrific  intensity  of  feeling. 


8o  THE  BETTER  MAN 

He  loved  this  woman,  hopelessly,  of  course,  but 
he  loved  her.  He  knew  that  he  would  love  no  one 
else :  more  than  that,  he  knew  that  he  would  never 
stop  loving  her.  The  hair  shirt  of  the  devotee,  the 
iron  girdle  of  the  martyr,  the  lacerated  back  of  the 
flagellant — he  could  bear  these  things  easily,  if  nec- 
essary; he  could  not  bear  to  think  of  Margaret 
Wharton  married  to  anyone  else. 

And  yet,  what  else  could  he  have  expected? 
When  he  had  visited  her  there  had  not  been  the 
slightest  hope  in  his  heart  that  she  loved  him,  or 
could  care  for  him.  He  had  not  told  her  a  word 
to  influence  her,  he  had  scarcely  even  intended  to 
go  so  far  as  to  ask  her  to  be  his  wife,  and  he  had 
known  that  she  must  marry  someone  in  the  very 
nature  of  things.  What  had  changed  him  ? 

He  had  kissed  her.  The  brief,  passionate,  al- 
most rough  touch  of  his  lips  upon  hers  had  revolu- 
tionized him.  That  moment  of  painful  yet  ex- 
quisite contact  had  broken  the  seals  and  burst  the 
bonds  and  set  something  free  in  him.  He  had 
kissed  her,  and  he  had  kissed  her  first  full  on  her 
sweet  lips.  He  had  had  that  advantage  of  Bar- 


DEAD  HAND  ON  LIVING  HEAD    81 

more,  and  no  one  could  take  it  away  from  him. 
He  knew  that  he  should  be  ashamed,  humiliated, 
brought  down  to  the  dust,  but  he  was  glad,  glad. 
She  would  remember  it — Barmore  would  remember 
it.  A  thousand  blows  upon  the  face  were  a  cheap 
price  to  pay  for  that  one  caress.  God  forgive  him. 
He  buried  his  face  in  his  hands  and  groaned 
aloud. 

"  Young  man,"  asked  a  policeman  who  was  idly 
strolling  through  the  park,  "  what's  the  matter, 
are  you  sick?  " 

"  Yes,  officer." 

"  Do  you  want  anything?  " 

"  Nothing  that  I  can  get." 

"Well,"  said  the  policeman,  "you'd  better 
move  on;  you  can't  be  sick  here,  you  know." 

The  voice  of  authority  to  the  wounded,  the 
helpless,  the  bruised,  is  always  to  move  on.  Steb- 
bing  smiled  grimly.  When  his  Master  fell  under 
the  cross  they  lifted  it  off  of  Him,  but  they  told 
Him  to  move  on.  No  one  could  lift  his  cross 
off  ortiim,  yet  like  that  Other,  he  had  to  move  on. 
He  rose,  turned  his  face  southward  and  went  back 


82  THE   BETTER   MAN 

to  his  work.  His  soul  cried  out  for  furious,  unin- 
termitting,  engrossing  work.  There  was  salvation 
in  work. 

Barmore  must  have  acted  with  unusual  prompt- 
ness, thought  Stebbing  next  morning,  when  he  read 
the  social  column  in  the  daily  paper.  Generally 
he  paid  no  attention  to  it  whatsoever,  but  that 
morning  he  turned  to  it  before  anything  else. 
There  was  an  engagement  announced  there:  "  Be- 
tween the  Rev.  Lionel  Barmore,  the  young,  bril- 
liant, and  popular  Rector  of  St.  Hilda's  fashion- 
able congregation,  and  Miss  Margaret  Wharton, 
daughter  of  General  Bideford  Wharton,  one  of 
the  most  prominent  citizens  of  the  great  metropo- 
lis, who  is  also  senior  warden  and  treasurer  of 
St.  Hilda's  parish." 

The  paper  understood  that  the  wedding  would 
take  place  within  the  next  two  months,  or  shortly 
after  Easter.  It  was  true,  then.  He  had  half 
believed,  as  he  had  tossed  the  long  night  through, 
that  it  had  been  a  hideous  dream.  This  publica- 
tion seemed  like  a  crossed  Rubicon,  an  irrevocable 
step  had  been  taken.  Stebbing  threw  the  paper 


DEAD  HAND  ON  LIVING  HEAD   83 

from  him  savagely  and  turned  to  his  work,  re- 
solving to  put  everything  but  that  out  of  his  heart 
— a  thing  easier  said  than  done. 

He  did  not  look  at  the  other  columns  of  the 
paper,  and  consequently  was  greatly  surprised 
when  the  telephone  bell  rang  and  he  received  an 
urgent  request  from  the  Bishop's  private  secretary 
to  come  to  the  Episcopal  residence  at  once. 

"  What  is  up  ?  "  asked  the  young  man,  such  a 
summons  being  sufficiently  infrequent  to  arouse  his 
curiosity. 

"  Up !  "  came  back  the  secretary  over  the  wire, 
"  haven't  you  heard?" 

"  I  have  heard  nothing." 

"  The  morning  papers?  " 

"  I  have  not  read  them." 

"  The  Bishop  is  dying." 

"Good  Heavens!" 

"Yes,  isn't  it  terrible?" 

"What  is  the  matter?" 

"  He  has  had  a  stroke.     The  doctors  say  he 

will  Jive  only  a  few  hours." 

t 

"  Is  he  conscious?" 


84  THE   BETTER   MAN 

"  Yes,  and  he  wants  you.  That  is  as  near  as 
we  can  make  out,  and  you  are  to  come  imme- 
diately." 

Instantly  Stebbing  hung  up  the  receiver,  seized 
his  hat,  and  rushed  from  the  room.  What  could 
the  Bishop  want  with  him?  He  loved  the  old 
man.  The  whole  Diocese  did  that,  and  they  re- 
spected him,  too.  The  administrator  had  been 
one  of  those  gentle,  peaceful  souls,  who  had  real- 
ized often  and  painfully  his  inadequacy  for  the 
strenuous  demands  of  his  great  position.  His 
ability  to  think  and  plan  was  greater  than  his 
ability  to  carry  out  and  execute.  His  judgment 
of  men  was  unerring,  his  power  to  interest  them 
and  to  move  them  hardly  commensurate.  He  had 
watched  Stebbing's  career  with  the  greatest  in- 
terest from  that  day  when  the  young  man  made 
such  a  startling  declaration  of  independence  in  the 
Bishop's  office.  He  had  observed  with  sympathy 
the  long,  hard  struggle  which  the  other  had  gone 
through.  He  had  rejoiced  that  Stebbing's  plans 
had  become  more  and  more  possible,  and  that  the 
practicability  of  his  ideas  had  been  demonstrated, 


DEAD  HAND  ON  LIVING  HEAD    85 

and  as  the  talent  of  the  young  man  for  leadership 
and  executive  ability  grew  upon  the  old  prelate, 
he  had  wondered,  strange  as  it  might  seem,  im- 
possible as  it  might  be  considered  by  some  less  wise 
than  himself,  whether  it  would  not  be  well,  upon 
his  demise,  that  the  great  interests  of  the  metro- 
politan Diocese  should  be  intrusted  to  this  new, 
virile,  vigorous,  determined  force. 

Other  men  beside  the  Bishop  had  thought  that. 
Mostly  young  men,  with  here  and  there  a  gray- 
beard  among  the  clergy  to  temper  the  youthful 
mass.  Like  every  great  organization  in  every 
great  city,  the  Church  was  subject  to  the  dicta- 
tions of  a  "  ring."  The  Bishop  had  been  sharp 
enough  to  see  this,  but  he  had  used  this  "  ring," 
so  far  as  he  could  do  so,  for  the  furtherance  of 
the  Church  work,  postponing  the  rupture  that  must 
inevitably  occur  if  the  Church  was  ever  to  take 
its  rightful  place  among  men,  for  the  power 
builded  of  men  alone  cannot  endure.  He  left  this 
struggle  for  his  successor,  not  because  he  was 

afraid  to  meet  the  issue — he  would  gladly  have 

• 
gone  to  the  stake  for  a  principle,  and  no  torture 


86  THE   BETTER   MAN 

could  have  wrung  from  him  a  complaining  word 
— but  because  he  felt  he  was  not  the  man  to  strike 
the  blow.  It  required  a  more  rugged  strength 
to  accomplish  this,  and  he  believed  he  had  found 
that  in  Stebbing. 

The  "  ring  "  in  control  was  in  no  sense  venal. 
It  partook  of  none  of  the  characteristics  of  a  po- 
litical association.  It  desired  sincerely  the  welfare 
of  the  Church,  and  gave  unlimitedly  for  the  fur- 
therance of  its  plans,  but  it  held  the  body  ecclesi- 
astic in  an  iron  grip,  in  an  unbreakable  control. 
The  members  of  the  group  in  power  undoubtedly 
believed  that  it  was  for  the  best  interest  of  all 
concerned  that  this  control  should  be  continued. 
These  members  were  men  of  the  very  highest  per- 
sonal character  and  of  generous  impulses.  The 
collective  ability  of  the  body  was  tremendous.  It 
had  supported  every  project  that  the  Bishop  fa- 
vored, and  every  appeal  of  the  Church  was  met 
by  it.  Its  influence  was  felt  by  all  the  clergy 
and  laity,  that  is,  except  Stebbing,  and  he  had 
stood  stubbornly  independent. 

Bideford  Wharton,  who  would  have  resented 


DEAD  HAND  ON  LIVING  HEAD    87 

it  if  anyone  had  suggested  that  such  a  "  ring  " 
existed,  and  that  he  had  anything  to  do  with  it, 
was  at  the  head  of  it.  He  would  have  told  you 
that  the  men  with  whom  he  was  associated  and 
he  himself  were  elected  to  their  offices  or  assumed 
their  position  without  the  slightest  conscious  effort 
on  their  part,  which  was  undoubtedly  true,  but 
nevertheless  the  "  ring  "  was  as  actual  as  it  was 
potential.  The  conservative  element  perpetuated 
it.  It  was  the  young  Church  body  of  whom  Steb- 
bing  had  grown  to  be  the  ideal,  that  was  protest- 
ing and  determined. 

Now  the  Bishop  was  already  a  very  old  man, 
and  men  would  not  have  been  human  had  they 
not  long  since  begun  to  speculate  upon  his  suc- 
cessor. The  humble  people,  who  represented  the 
poorer  churches,  made  no  secret  of  their  view  that 
Stebbing  should  be  the  next  great  metropolitan. 
The  young  clergy  and  the  newcomers,  mostly  from 
the  West,  not  yet  tamed  and  subdued  to  the  proper 
deferential  position  by  the  tremendous  forces  of 
the  £ast,  readily  entered  into  the  desires  of  these 
and  favored  Stebbing.  There  was  not  a  man  of 


88  THE  BETTER   MAN 

any  influence,  power,  or  position,  either  among  the 
clergy  or  the  laity  in  that  group,  but  they  were 
men,  some  of  them  among  the  laity  of  unusual 
ability,  if  of  no  special  social  position,  men  whose 
capacity  for  organizing  forces  and  controlling 
them  when  organized  had  been  tested  in  labor 
matters. 

The  chief  of  these  was  a  certain  mechanic,  a 
housesmith,  named  Penrod,  a  natural  orator,  a 
man  of  commanding  personality,  stubborn  deter- 
mination, and  invincible  courage,  and  as  good  a 
workman  as  there  was  in  the  trade.  He  was  a 
leader  of  the  labor  forces  of  the  city,  a  man 
of  great  influence  and  power,  and  as  disinterested 
and  honest  as  he  was  able.  Stebbing  had  picked 
him  out  of  the  gutter.  He  was  one  of  those 
masterless  men  who  had  resorted  to  the"  cave  of 
Adullam.  Stebbing  had  given  to  him  the  spiritual 
touch  which  complemented  and  supplemented  the 
character  of  the  man,  and  he  was  devoted  to  the 
young  parson.  The  son  of  an  Englishman,  he 
had  been  confirmed  in  his  youth,  and  now  was 
Stebbing's  right-hand  man  at  St.  Osmund's.  He 


DEAD  HAND  ON  LIVING  HEAD    89 

had  been  a  deputy  to  several  Diocesan  Conventions, 
where  he  had  had  courage  to  express  himself  on 
several  important  questions  which  had  arisen  from 
time  to  time  and  was  therefore  a  marked  man 
among  the  deputies  and  the  delegates,  for  the  most 
part  silent,  that  made  up  that  great  organization. 
It  was  he  who  had  determined  to  have  a  Bishop 
from  the  people.  The  man  understood  that  that 
was  the  foundation  upon  which  the  Church  must 
be  builded,  if  it  was  to  stand  firm  as  it  should  and 
reach  from  earth  to  sky. 

Now,  Stebbing  had  not  dreamed  of  this  specu- 
lation concerning  him.  Penrod  shrewdly  told 
himself  that  the  most  dangerous  antagonist  to  be 
avoided  in  such  a  movement  would  be  Stebbing 
himself,  and  he  had  expounded  his  theory  to  his 
followers  and  his  friends.  He  had  even  ven- 
tured to  give  advice  to  the  younger  members  of 
the  city  clergy  with  whom  he  came  in  contact  from 
time  to  time  at  the  conventions,  and  whom  he  had 
visited  systematically  for  the  purpose,  that  no  men- 
tion* of  the  propaganda  should  be  made  to  the  man 
most  interested.  Yet  some  of  these  things  had 


90  THE   BETTER  MAN 

come  to  the  Bishop's  ears.  Perhaps  he,  too,  had 
seen  the  advisability  of  the  possible  movement  for 
taking  the  generalship  of  the  church  back  to  the 
sections  of  the  humble,  whence  its  leadership  had 
originally  sprung,  and  which  had  furnished  its  first 
and  greatest  apostolate. 

The  Bishop  lived  in  a  comfortable  house  fur- 
nished by  the  Diocese  on  one  of  the  side  streets 
running  from  the  great  avenue  on  which  the 
Wharton  residence  stood,  facing  the  park  and 
near  St.  Hilda's  Church,  which  the  Bishop's 
family,  in  default  of  a  cathedral  not  yet  erected, 
attended.  If  he  could  have  gone  quicker  thereby, 
Stebbing  would  not  have  hesitated  to  have  hired 
a  taxi-cab,  although  to  have  paid  for  it  would  have 
exhausted  his  purse,  but  the  Subway  Express 
afforded  him  more  rapid  means  of  getting  uptown, 
and  in  fifteen  minutes  after  he  had  received  the 
summons,  having  been  fortunate  enough  to  make 
good  connections,  he  stopped  before  the  Bishop's 
door.  The  street  was  crowded  with  the  motor 
cars  of  the  advanced  and  the  carriages  of  the 
conservative,  and  groups  of  people  stood  on  the 


DEAD  HAND  ON  LIVING  HEAD    91 

sidewalks.  There  was  a  constant  stream  of  in- 
quiries at  the  door.  Stebbing  mounted  the  steps 
with  the  others,  and  was  met  by  a  policeman,  sta- 
tioned there  to  keep  out  all  comers. 

"How  is  the  Bishop?"  he  asked. 

"  Very  low,  sir,  and " 

"  I  should  like  to  see  him." 

"  Beg  pardon,  sir,  but  no  one " 

"  I  am  Mr.  Stebbing,  and  the  Bishop's  secre- 
tary telephoned  that  I  was  wanted." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,  I  did  not  know  you. 
Yes,  you  are  expected.  Will  you  come  right  in  ?  " 

He  stood  aside,  motioned  to  Stebbing  to  pass 
him,  and  turned  to  confront  other  inquirers  who 
wished  to  learn  the  latest  tidings,  to  express  their 
sympathy,  and  to  proffer  to  do  whatever  they 
could.  A  maid,  who  recognized  him,  met  Stebbing 
in  the  hall. 

"Will  you  step  in  here,  sir?"  she  said,  "and 
I'll  tell  Mrs.  Wentworth  that  you  are  here.  They 
have  been  very  anxious  to  see  you,  and  I'll  be  back 
in  a  minute." 

Following  the  maid's  gesture,  Stebbing  walked 


92  THE   BETTER   MAN 

into  the  drawing-room.  A  number  of  people, 
friends  of  the  Bishop,  officials  in  the  Diocese,  and 
others,  who  had  a  right  of  entrance,  were  there. 
The  group  directly  in  front  of  the  mantel  in- 
cluded Barmore,  General  Wharton,  and  his 
daughter.  Stebbing's  heart  leaped  at  the  sight  of 
them.  Unfortunately,  General  Wharton  caught 
sight  of  him  just  as  Stebbing  turned  to  withdraw. 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Stebbing,"  said  the  General,  moving 
toward  him  with  outstretched  hand.  "  This  is 
a  terrible  business,  terrible." 

11  It  is,  indeed." 

"  Margaret,  you  see  Mr.  Stebbing?" 

Margaret  Wharton,  who  had  suddenly  turned 
very  pale,  bowed  to  the  minister  who  stood  before 
her. 

"  Barmore  has  been  with  the  Bishop  all  morn- 
ing," continued  the  General. 

Thus  addressed,  Barmore  also  was  constrained 
to  acknowledge  the  presence  of  his  former  friend. 

"How  is  he?"  asked  Stebbing. 

"  There  is  no  hope  for  him." 

"  I  was  sent  for  by  Mr.  Karney,  the  secretary." 


DEAD  HAND  ON  LIVING  HEAD    93 

"The  Bishop,  we  thought,  wanted  to  see  you; 
that  is  as  near  as  we  could  make  out  his  desires, 
anyway.  We  could  scarcely  understand  any- 
thing." 

"  What  could  he  want  with  me?  " 

"Humph!"  said  the  General;  "what,  in- 
deed?" 

The  frightfully  embarrassing  situation  was  re- 
lieved by  the  re-entrance  of  the  maid. 

"  Mr.  Stebbing,  you  are  to  come  at  once,  Mrs. 
Wentworth  says.  You,  too,  Mr.  Barmore,  and 
General  Wharton.  In  fact,  anyone  who  would 
like  to.  The  doctors  say  there  is  no  hope,  and 
you  won't  disturb  the  Bishop;  he  is  almost  in  a 
state  of  collapse." 

Wharton  was  the  chief  lay  member  of  the 
Standing  Committee;  Barmore  was  pastor  to  the 
Bishop's  family;  old  Dr.  Lydon,  President  of  the 
Standing  Committee,  was  one  of  the  oldest  friends 
of  the  Bishop.  These  gentlemen,  with  Margaret 
Wharton,  to  whom  the  Bishop  had  almost  been 
a  s«cond  father,  detached  themselves  from  the 
rest  and  followed  the  maid  down  the  hall,  up  the 


94  THE   BETTER   MAN 

long  stairs  into  the  Bishop's  room.  There  were 
two  or  three  physicians  there,  two  nurses,  and  the 
Bishop's  old  and  feeble  wife.  The  old  man's 
only  son  had  not  yet  arrived  from  Chicago.  The 
Bishop  lay  on  his  back,  and  his  beard  and  face 
were  as  white  as  the  linen  upon  which  his  head 
rested.  His  eyes  were  open,  and  there  was  in- 
telligence in  them.  He  was  apparently  completely 
paralyzed.  He  could  neither  speak  nor  move 
anything  but  his  right  hand,  which  wavered  slightly 
over  the  counterpane. 

His  wife,  who  had  been  standing  by  him, 
rose  as  the  little  group  entered.  She  took 
Stebbing  by  the  hand  and  led  him  to  the  bed- 
side. 

"  Father,"  she  said,  raising  her  voice,  "  here  is 
Mr.  Stebbing.  We  thought  you  wanted  to  see 
him." 

There  was  a  movement  of  his  eyelids,  whether 
it  was  muscular  or  involuntary,  or  whether  it 
meant  anything  or  not,  no  one  could  tell;  but  the 
eyes  brightened  and  stared  hard  at  the  young  man, 
who  looked  down  at  the  Bishop,  greatly  puzzled, 


DEAD  HAND  ON  LIVING  HEAD    95 

a  deep  sympathy  working  in  his  rather  rugged 
face. 

"  Speak  to  him,"  said  his  wife. 

"  Was  there  anything  you  wanted  to  say  to  me, 
Bishop  ?  "  asked  Stebbing,  raising  his  voice.  "  Is 
there  anything  I  can  do  for  you,  sir?  " 

There  was  no  answer.  The  Bishop  was  in- 
capable of  speech.  His  right  hand  still  fluttered 
restlessly  across  the  cover.  Stebbing  reached  over 
and  took  the  thin,  wasted,  aristocratic  old  hand 
in  his  strong  and  firm  grasp.  He  thought  he 
detected  a  faint  pressure  and  a  faint  pull.  Did 
the  Bishop  wish  to  push  him  away?  He  strove 
gently  to  release  his  hand,  but  he  could  not. 
What  did  the  Bishop  mean  ?  The  eyes  of  the  old 
man  looked  at  him  so  entreatingly.  There  was 
so  much  that  he  fain  would  say,  there  was  so  much 
that  he  fain  would  do,  yet  he  said  and  did  noth- 
ing. His  days  of  saying  and  his  days  of  doing 
were  alike  over.  The  doctor  came  to  the  side  of 
the  bed  and  examined  the  Bishop  critically.  He 
shopk  his  head,  consulted  with  his  colleague,  and 
then  turned  to  General  Wharton. 


96  THE  BETTER  MAN 

"  He  is  liable  to  go  at  any  moment." 

The  General  nodded  his  head.  "  It  would  be 

well "  he  said  to  Barmore,  but  the  latter  had 

already  anticipated  the  suggestion.  He  held  in 
his  hand  a  little  Book  of  Common  Prayer,  which 
he  always  carried  in  his  pocket.  He  looked  for 
a  moment  at  the  grave  faces  of  the  doctors,  the 
sternly  composed  face  of  the  General,  the  tear- 
dimmed  eyes  of  Margaret  Wharton,  the  stricken 
face  of  the  Bishop's  wife,  and  the  pitying  coun- 
tenance of  his  whilom  friend,  Stebbing,  then  at 
the  expressionless  face  of  the  Bishop.  Yes,  it 
was  time  for  that  prayer  provided  for  those  at 
the  point  of  departure. 

"  Let  us  pray." 

His  voice  broke  the  silence.  Stebbing  with 
the  rest  knelt  down.  The  others  at  the  foot  of 
the  bed,  the  old  wife  at  the  Bishop's  head,  and 
Stebbing  at  his  side.  The  slow,  sympathetic 
voice  of  Barmore  rose  gently  in  the  still  air: 

"We  humbly  commend  the  soul  of  this 
thy  .  .  ." 

The  dying  man's  eyes  opened  widely.      Some 


DEAD  HAND  ON  LIVING  HEAD    97 

final  access  of  strength  came  to  him.  He  drew 
his  hand  away  from  Stebbing's  detaining  clasp  and 
lifted  it  and  dropped  it  upon  the  young  man's 
head. 

"...  Wash  it,  we  pray  thee,  in  the  blood  of 
that  immaculate  Lamb,  that  was  slain  to  take 
away  the  sins  of  the  world.  ..." 

The  hand  fluttered  and  trembled  for  a  moment, 
the  light  faded  from  his  eyes,  and  the  great  prel- 
ate had  become  in  one  moment  even  as  men  of 
low  degree.  They  all  knew  what  had  happened. 
Barmore,  praying  on,  closed  his  petition  with  the 
last  appeal  of  all  that  could  be  made. 

"...  Through  the  merits  of  Jesus  Christ, 
thine  only  Son,  our  Lord." 

The  Bishop  was  dead.  He  had  put  his  right 
hand  on  Stebbing's  bent  head  before  he  died. 
What  did  it  mean?  Stebbing  had  felt  the  life 
go  out  of  the  hand  during  the  reading  of  the 
prayer.  He  had  realized  at  once  the  difference 
between  a  dead  and  a  living  touch,  but  he  did  not 
move  until  someone  took  the  hand  from  his  head. 

• 

He  hardly  realized  this.     As  he  lifted  his  head 


98  THE  BETTER   MAN 

he  had  eyes  only  for  Margaret  Wharton.  He 
had  surprised  her.  She  had  a  look  upon  her  face 
which  he  could  not  understand.  It  was  as  if 
death  had  driven  away  dissimulation.  What  did 
it  mean?  He  was  human;  he  couldn't  help  won- 
dering as  he  heard  old  Dr.  Lydon  say: 

"The  Lord  gave   and  the  Lord  hath  taken 
away.     Blessed  be  the  Name  of  the  Lord." 


CHAPTER  IV 

TWO  GREAT  MATTERS  ARE  MOOTED 

ALTHOUGH  he  had  been  the  recipient  of  such  a 
significant  manifestation  of  interest  on  the  part  of 
the  dead  prelate,  although  there  had  been  some 
sort  of  intense  meaning  in  his  final  action,  Steb- 
bing's  mind  was  not  at  all  clear  as  to  what  had 
been  the  purport  of  that  benediction.  He  was  too 
modest  to  make  the  obvious  deduction  personal 
to  himself,  and,  to  his  shame,  he  admitted,  he 
was  too  much  occupied  with  things  that  were  very 
much  alive  to  give  much  immediate  thought  to  the 
Bishop,  either  as  to  his  character,  his  career,  or  his 
strange  last  conscious  act,  although  he  had  deeply 
loved  the  old  man.  He  was  thinking  even  as  he 
was  in  the  very  presence  of  the  dead  of  Margaret 
Wharton. 

He  withdrew  from  the  room  silently,  none  ques- 
tioning or  stopping  him.  Neither  his  position  in 
the  "Diocese,  nor  his  years,  nor  his  relation  to  the 

99 


ioo          THE   BETTER   MAN 

Bishop,  warranted  him  remaining;  nor  did  he  feel 
that  he  was  of  sufficient  importance  to  be  con- 
sulted about  the  funeral  arrangements.  These 
would  naturally  fall  into  the  hands  of  Dr.  Lydon, 
the  President  of  the  Standing  Committee,  Gen- 
eral Wharton,  and  Barmore,  the  Rector  of  the 
Bishop's  family. 

He  was  glad  to  get  away  from  the  bedside  of 
the  dead  Bishop  and  think  undisturbed  of  the  liv- 
ing reality  of  Margaret  Wharton.  He  was  very 
uncomfortable  in  her  society  for  reasons  he  could 
not  disguise,  yet  he  would  rather  have  been  in 
her  society  than  that  of  any  other  person.  He 
was  miserable  when  away  from  her,  and  more 
miserable  when  with  her.  The  condition  is  neither 
unusual  nor  inexplicable.  He  loved  her;  he  had 
affronted  her.  She  had  rejected  his  affections,  and 
was  about  to  marry  somebody  else.  The  situation 
was  entirely  hopeless  from  his  viewpoint,  and  yet 
what  had  been  the  meaning  of  that  look  he  had 
surprised  upon  her  face,  when  he  lifted  his  head 
from  beneath  the  dead  hand  to  find  her  staring  at 
him? 


TWO   GREAT  MATTERS      101 

He  could  not  puzzle  it  out.  She  loved  Bar- 
more,  she  had  said  so;  she  had  accepted  him;  she 
was  too  true  a  woman  to  have  taken  that  course 
unless  her  heart  went  with  her  consent,  her  soul 
with  her  hand,  and  yet — Stebbing,  obtuse  and  un- 
versed as  he  was  in  woman's  ways,  was  not  alto- 
gether a  fool  when  it  came  to  the  other  sex,  and 
although  he  saw  a  woman  in  love  with  and  pledged 
to  another,  he  could  have  sworn  that  there  was 
affection  for  him  in  that  glance.  Yes,  for 
him! 

But  that  was  clearly  impossible.  It  could  not 
be.  He  put  the  matter  firmly  out  of  his  mind 
and  settled  resolutely  down  to  work  at  St.  Os- 
mund's. Work — that  was  the  sovereign  panacea 
for  pain  like  his;  labor — that  was  the  remedy 
ready  to  his  hand;  toil — that  would  enable  him  to 
conquer  earthly  passions  and  devote  himself  with 
renewed  vigor  and  success  to  the  mission.  In 
the  turmoil  of  his  feelings  the  Bishop's  action  pres- 
ently went  out  of  his  mind. 

If  did  not  go  out  of  the  minds  of  the  others 
who  were  present.  There  was  an  intense  signifies 


102          THE  BETTER   MAN 

tion  in  it  to  them.  Barmore's  face  had  gone 
suddenly  very  white,  as  the  realization  of  the 
meaning  of  it  burst  upon  him.  Margaret's  ap- 
preciation had  been  quicker  than  that  of  the  others. 
General  Wharton  had  understood  it.  The 
Bishop's  wife  had  scarcely  noted  it.  Besides  these 
four,  there  were  in  the  room  old  Dr.  Lydon,  the 
doctors,  and  two  nurses.  Leaving  the  latter  in 
charge  of  the  dead  Bishop,  Barmore  gently  led 
the  Bishop's  wife  away.  He  condoled  with  her 
for  a  little  space,  until  she  asked  to  be  left  alone, 
and  then  repaired  to  the  Bishop's  study,  where 
General  Wharton  had  asked  him  to  meet  him  as 
soon  as  was  convenient.  Margaret  and  the  two 
physicians,  with  old  Dr.  Lydon  also  assembled 
there. 

"  Gentlemen,"  began  the  General,  "  I  regret  to 
bring  this  matter  up  now,  but  it  seems  to  me  to 
be  necessary.  There  may  be  a  significance  in  the 
Bishop's  action  in  summoning  Stebbing  and  laying 
his  hand  on  his  head  in  benediction,  and  there 
may  not  be,  but  I  think,  for  reasons  that  are  good 
to  me," — he  did  not  state  them.  Perhaps  he  con- 


TWO   GREAT  MATTERS      103 

eluded  that  they  could  divine  them  as  well  as  he, 
or  perhaps  he  was  of  the  opinion  that,  since  the 
reasons  were  good  to  him,  no  one  else  had  any 
call  to  question  the  matter — "  it  would  be  well  for 
us  to  say  nothing  about  it.  I  know  I  can  trust 
to  your  discretion,  Dr.  Baron,  and  to  that  of  your 

young  colleague "  Both  gentlemen  bowed. 

They  had  not  the  faintest  desire  to  oppose  a  man 
like  Bideford  Wharton.  There  was  no  reason 
on  earth  why  they  should.  If  the  authorities 
about  the  Bishop's  bedside  desired  them  to  be 
silent,  they  accordingly  were  so.  There  was  no 
reason  why  they  should  speak.  "  I  can  answer 
for  Margaret,"  went  on  the  General,  "  and  you, 
Barmore ?  " 

"  Certainly,  I  shall  say  nothing  about  it." 

"And  you,  Dr.  Lydon?" 

"  You  can  count  on  me." 

"The  physicians  will  see  to  the  nurse?" 

"  I  will  speak  to  her,  General,"  answered  Dr. 
Baron. 

"TJiat  is  settled,  then.  Now,  I  assume  that 
the  funeral  will  be  from  our  church,  St.  Hilda's, 


io4          THE   BETTER   MAN 

and  we  would  better  proceed  with  the  arrange- 
ments, and " 

"  If  you  will  excuse  me,  father,  I  think  I  will 
take  the  car  and  go  home,"  interrupted  his  daugh- 
ter. "  I  can  do  nothing  here." 

"Very  well,  Margaret,"  said  the  General 
kindly. 

"Shall  I  accompany  you,  Margaret?"  inter- 
posed Barmore. 

"  No,  it  is  not  necessary.  You  have  much  to 
do." 

"  Send  the  car  back  when  you  are  finished  with 
it,  Margaret,"  said  the  General.  "  Now,  gentle- 
men  " 

Margaret  left  the  room  also  with  mingled  feel- 
ings. She  had  said  nothing.  Her  father  had 
declared  that  he  would  answer  for  her,  but  could 
he,  and  would  he  do  so?  There  was  no  doubt 
in  Margaret  Wharton's  mind  that,  so  far  as  he 
was  consciously  able  to  do  so,  the  Bishop  had 
designated  Stebbing  as  his  successor.  Wonderful, 
unprecedented,  extraordinary  as  that  course  would 
be,  the  Bishop  had  certainly  taken  it.  Whether 


TWO  GREAT  MATTERS      105 

he  was  in  his  right  mind  or  not  would  be  a  ques- 
tion which  perhaps  not  even  the  most  acute  and 
learned  physician  could  decide,  but  with  whatever 
mind  he  had,  and  with  the  last  access  of  strength 
permitted  him,  he  had  certainly  deliberately  laid 
his  hand  on  Stebbing's  head ! 

Stebbing  as  the  successor  of  Bishop  Wentworth ! 
It  was  unthinkable;  for  Wentworth  had  been 
courtly,  magnetic,  exquisitely  subtle,  spiritual,  aris- 
tocratic, tactful,  while  Stebbing  was  plain,  blunt, 
practical,  everyday,  indifferent  to  conventions. 
At  that  thought  the  strain  of  contiguity  in  her 
mind  snapped,  and  she  flashed  back  to  that  scene 
where  he  had  thrown  aside  conventions,  propri- 
eties, and  everything  else  that  should  govern  a 
man  and  a  woman,  and  had  snatched  her  in  his 
arms  and  had  stolen  kisses  from  her. 

Kisses! — Sweet?  How  the  blood  flooded  her 
cheek  as  she  sat  in  the  tonneau  of  the  big  car. 
Was  it  a  flush  of  anger,  or  resentment,  or  mere 
remembrance,  or  was  it  compact  of  all  these 
things?  She  did  not  know.  She  was  not  sure, 
and  this  lack  of  knowledge,  this  incertitude, 


106          THE   BETTER  MAN 

humiliated  her  more  than  had  the  kisses  the  day 
before. 

It  was  with  relief  that  her  mind  turned  to  Bar- 
more.  He  was  the  logical  candidate  for  the  high 
office.  He  possessed  many  of  the  characteristics 
of  Bishop  Wentworth,  with  other  attributes  of  his 
own,  highly  desirable  for  one  filling  such  a  posi- 
tion, and  she  would  not  have  been  human  had 
she  not  realized  that,  in  all  probability,  instead 
of  being  the  wife  of  the  Rector  of  St.  Hilda's, 
she  would  be  the  wife  of  the  Bishop  of  the  great 
metropolis;  which  was  a  very  different  position, 
indeed. 

Yet  that  thought  gave  her  no  special  joy  or 
satisfaction.  There  was  a  deadness  and  an  inert- 
ness in  her  at  the  thought  of  such  an  ending  to 
her  dreams.  Yet  she  forced  herself  to  contem- 
plate the  position.  She  strove  to  speculate  upon 
the  good  she  could  do  in  such  an  office — the  help 
she  could  be  to  her  husband — and  there  was  a 
strange  feeling  of  relief  at  the  thought  of  labor 
and  work.  Yet  her  insubordinate  mind  would 
revert  to  the  man  whom  she  instinctively  knew  to 


TWO   GREAT   MATTERS      107 

be  tramping  the  streets  behind  her,  while  she  rode 
over  the  pavement  in  her  big  motor-car. 

Suppose  the  story  did  get  out;  suppose  that  to 
the  growing  interest  in  Stebbing's  work,  and  the 
increasing  influence  of  it,  were  added  knowledge 
of  the  scene  in  the  Bishop's  room — what  might 
happen?  Margaret  was  strangely  aware  that 
there  was  a  large  body  of  young  clergymen,  mainly 
from  the  smaller  parishes,  any  of  whose  votes,  by 
the  way,  counted  for  just  as  much  as  that  of  her 
father,  who  were  deeply  interested  in  Stebbing. 
He  had  in  a  certain  sense  become  a  hero  to  that 
section  of  the  Church.  She  knew  that  her  father's 
candidate,  and  the  candidate  of  all  the  wealthy 
faction,  would  be  Barmore,  but  she  was  by  no 
means  sure,  although  her  confidence  in  her  father's 
management  was  very  great,  that  Barmore  could 
be  elected,  in  which  case  she  would  not  be  the 

wife  of  the  Bishop  at  all,  unless The  blood 

burned  in  her  veins  again. 

That  afternoon  Penrod  called  upon  his  Rector. 

?  Mr.  Stebbing,"  he  began,  after  he  had  been 
cordially  welcomed  by  the  young  man,  who  had 


108          THE   BETTER   MAN 

great   respect   and   admiration    for  the   stalwart, 
sturdy,    clear-headed,    enthusiastic   old   mechanic, 
"  there  are  two  things  on  my  mind,  and  I  naturally 
come  to  you  to  get  'em  out." 
"What  are  they,  Penrod?" 
"  The  first  is  the  death  of  the  Bishop." 
"  That  is  a  matter  of  grave  concern  to  us  all," 
returned  Stebbing;  "  and,  of  course,  in  its  sudden- 
ness it  is  very  shocking;  yet  we  have  to  be  frank 
about  it.      The  Diocese  will  surely  gain  by  it. 
For  years  Bishop  Wentworth  has  been  little  more 
than  a  figurehead — his  age,  his  infirmities,  his  dis- 
position  " 

"  That's  right,  Mr.  Stebbing.  A  Diocese  like 
this  one  must  have  a  man  at  the  head  of  it — 
a  young  man,  a  vigorous  man,  a  man  who  knows 
and  understands  the  common  people,  a  plain  man 
who  can  get  at  the  heart  of  humanity." 

"  That  is  the  kind  of  man  we  want,  Pen- 
rod." 

"  And  that's  the  kind  of  man  we'll  get." 
"  I   hope   so.     The   only   difficulty  is   to   find 
him." 


TWO  GREAT  MATTERS      109 

"  For  my  part,"  was  the  quick  answer,  "  I  have 
found  him." 

"  You !  "  exclaimed  Stebbing. 

"  I  have  been  a  delegate  to  every  Diocesan  Con- 
vention since  you  came  here  and  picked  me  out 
of  the  gutter,"  said  Penrod  with  rough  dignity. 
"  I  have  spoken  a  number  of  times,  and  have  made 
the  acquaintance  of  many  of  the  deputies  and  the 
clergymen.  You  know  I  hold  a  high  position  in 
my  union,  and  I  am  somewhat  of  a  leader  in  labor 
circles,  and " 

"  Of  course  I  know  all  that,  and  appreciate  it ; 
but  do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  have  picked 
out  a  clergyman  already  for  the  great  office  of 
Bishop  in  this  Diocese  ?  " 

11 1  have." 

"And  who  is  he — Barmore?" 

"  Barmore  I  "  the  big  mechanic  almost  snarled. 
"  What  are  his  qualifications  to  lead  a  Diocese  like 
this?" 

"  A  fine  presence,  a  cultivated  mind,  a  great 
ability  to  preach,  a  commanding  position,  a  wide 
influence  among " 


no          THE  BETTER  MAN 

"  The  idle  rich  and  the  timid  refined.  What's 
he  doing  in  the  muck-holes  of  the  city  among  the 
poor  and  the " 

"  There  is  St.  Hilda's  mission." 

"  Rot !  It  is  a  religious  condescension,  and 
pauperizes  the  class  to  which  it  strives  to  minister, 
to  which  we  belong.  You've  taught  us  that  your- 
self." 

"But,"  persisted  Stebbing,  "look  at  the 
good " 

"  Oh,  it  does  some  good,  I  grant  you,  among  the 
women  and  the  children ;  but  it  ain't  doing  Christ's 
work  in  Christ's  way.  It  is  giving,  giving,  giving 
all  the  time,  and  never  getting  his  people  to " 

"  But  He  said  it  was  better  to  give  than  to 
receive." 

"  Yes,  I  know ;  but  the  kind  of  giving  we  want 
is  that  which  '11  make  self-respecting  men  and 
women  out  of  us  by  making  us  give  back  what  we 
can.  We  want  to  get  in  on  the  benefits  of  giving 
ourselves,  not  allow  them  a  monopoly  of  blessing 
in  addition  to  everything  else  they've  got,"  went 
on  the  man  with  shrewd  earnestness.  "  The 


TWO  GREAT  MATTERS      in 

Church  is  suffering  for  a  man  to  lead  it  in  your 
way.  Men  like  that  wonderful  Saint  Paul  you 
preach  about  so  often." 

"  But  he  was  one  of  the  best-bred  men  of  his 
time,  one  of  the  most  cultivated,  one  of  the  most 
learned " 

"  I  know  he  was,  but  he  was  a  tent-maker,  a 
workingman  just  the  same  as  you  and  me,  and 
proud  of  it,  too." 

"  I  am  not  what  you  would  call  well-born," 
said  Stebbing,  smiling  at  his  earnest  friend.  "  My 
people  were  plain  New  England  farmers.  I  cer- 
tainly am  not  particularly  well  educated,  and — " 
the  smile  faded  from  his  lips ;  "  I  am  not  quite 
sure  that  I  am  particularly  well-bred." 

There  was  a  bitterness  in  that  admission  which 
perhaps  two  days  before  he  would  not  have  made, 
and  would  not  have  allowed  anyone  else  to  make. 

"  You're  a  man  all  right.  You're  well  enough 
born,"  said  Penrod,  "  and  well  enough  bred,  and 
well  enough  educated  for  us  down  here,  and  we 
want  you  for  Bishop." 

'*  You  don't  mean  it.     You  can't  mean  it." 


ii2          THE   BETTER  MAN 

"  Of  course  I  mean  it,  and  what's  more,  we  are 
going  to  have  you." 

"  It  is  absurd,  impossible." 

"  It  ain't  absurd,  and  it  ain't  impossible.  You 
don't  know  what  a  following  you  have  in  this 
Diocese.  Every  church  among  the  poor  parishes 
will  send  its  full  quota  of  delegates,  and  they'll 
vote  for  you  to  the  last  man." 

"But  the  clergy?" 

"  Every  young  clergyman,  except  those  that  are 
tied  up  in  the  big  rich  churches,  like  Barmore's 
assistants,  will  vote  for  you,  first,  last,  and  all 
the  time." 

"I  forbid  it  absolutely,"  cried  Stebbing;  "it 
• »» 

"  You  can't  forbid  it.  Your  forbidding  it  will 
make  no  difference.  We  know  you,  and  we're 
going  to  have  you;  and  if  we  don't  get  you,  we're 
going  to  make  ourselves  so  felt  in  the  convention 
that  the  man  who  gets  it  will  have  a  warning. 
We're  going  to  show  them  what  we  mean.  We 
know  you,  and  we're  going  to  have  you." 

"  No  one  knows  me  as  I  know  myself.     If  there 


TWO  GREAT  MATTERS      113 

ever  was  a  man  unworthy  of  such  an  office  it  is  I. 
I  have  none  of  the  qualities  that  would  go  to  make 

a  successful  Bishop.      I  lack " 

"  I  know  what  you  lack,"  said  Penrod  coolly; 
"  you  ain't  a  saint;  none  of  us  is  that.  We  know 
your  faults,  but  we  know  your  virtues,  too,  and 
your  defects  ain't  to  be  mentioned  for  a  moment 
in  comparison  with  your  qualities.  Look  what 
you  have  done  down  here.  You  have  revolution- 
ized the  whole  neighborhood.  You  have  closed 
half  the  saloons,  and  the  other  half  you  have  made 
as  decent  as  you  can.  You  can  fill  the  old  church 
three  times  a  Sunday,  and  the  parish  house  all 
the  week.  The  plant  has  been  cleaned  and  put 
in  order.  You've  got  a  big  Sunday  school,  com- 
posed of  people  you  have  pulled  off  the  streets. 
You've  turned  brutes  into  men  and  women. 
You've  got  a  great  following;  there  ain't  nothing 
they  wouldn't  do  for  you,  and  every  drunkard, 
thief,  blackguard,  and  prostitute  in  the  whole  city 
is  your  friend.  When  any  of  'em  gets  into  trouble, 
do  they  send  for  Barmore,  or  any  of  his  crowd? 
No  -r  they  want  you,  and  the  whole  city  wants  you." 


n4          THE   BETTER   MAN 

"  The  people  who  live  on  Fifth  Avenue  cer- 
tainly don't  want  me,"  said  Stebbing  somewhat 
bitterly. 

"  No,  they  don't;  but  it  would  be  for  their  soul's 
health  if  they  did,  and  sometimes  I  think  they 
need  the  Gospel  more  than  we  do.  Christ  was 
like  us ;  it  was  on  our  account  that  He  came.  He 
might  have  been  anything  that  He  chose  to  be, 
but  He  came  a  poor  workingman,  laboring  with 
His  hands.  He  swung  an  ax,  and  shoved  a  plane, 
and  dragged  a  saw,  and  wielded  a  hammer.  We 
can  understand  Him  better  than  they  can.  I  tell 
you,  the  salvation  of  the  world  has  got  to  begin 
where  Jesus  begun — at  the  bottom  of  society. 
We're  going  to  begin  here,  and  the  man  who  is 
going  to  do  it  is  yourself." 

"  Any  attempt  to  elect  me  would  antagonize 
St.  Hilda's  people,  and  all  the  others  like 
them." 

"The  difference  between  you  and  St.  Hilda's 
crowd  is  just  this:  They  give  money  to  help  us. 
You  come  down  here  and  give  yourself  to  teach 
us  to  help  ourselves.  They  are  doing  their  best, 


TWO   GREAT  MATTERS      115 

and  I've  got  nothing  to  say  against  them,  but  you 
are  the  man  we  want,  and  you  are  the  man  we 
are  going  to  have." 

"  Penrod,"  said  Stebbing  earnestly,  "  don't  do 
this.  Your  affection,  your  regard,  for  me  is  lead- 
ing you  astray.  It  is  not  possible,  and  if  it  were, 
it  would  not  be  wise.  I  am  not  learned  enough 
or  tactful  enough  or  pious  enough — or  anything 
enough,  and  I  haven't  the  slightest  desire  on  earth 
to  be  a  Bishop.  Nobody,  I  am  confident,  has 
ever  thought  of  it  but  you,  and  perhaps  some  of 
the  young  clergy  down  here.  It  would  come  to 
nothing,  and " 

"  So  you  think  nobody  has  thought  of  it,  do 
you?" 

"  I  am  sure  of  it." 

"  What  about  what  happened  this  morning?  " 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"  At  the  Bishop's  bedside,  when  he  died." 

"And  what  do  you  know  about  it,  Penrod?" 

11 1  know  all  about  it." 

"Andhow?'u 

"  Jessie  told  me." 


n6          THE   BETTER   MAN 

"Jessie!"  exclaimed  Stebbing;  "was  she 
there?" 

"  She  was.  You  didn't  notice  her.  She  was 
assistant  nurse.  Nobody  noticed  her.  I  have 
heard  through  one  of  the  servants  that  something 
took  place  that  was  kept  secret  by  Wharton  and 
Barmore  and  the  rest  of  the  crowd.  They  were 
all  sworn  to  secrecy,  except  Jessie.  Being  an 
under-nurse,  nobody  thought  of  her.  She  left  im- 
mediately after  the  Bishop  died,  and  before  they 
cooked  up  their  plan,  and  being  my  daughter  she 
naturally  came  to  me  and  said  how  she  saw  the 
Bishop  call  for  you,  and  when  you  knelt  by  his 
side  he  laid  his  hand  on  your  head." 

"  Penrod,  you  don't  know  what  you  are  say- 
ing." 

"  Yes,  I  do.  He  was  a  wise  old  man,  Bishop 
Wentworth,  in  his  way.  I've  always  said  that. 
He  wasn't  capable  of  taking  care  of  this  Diocese, 
though.  Forty  years  ago,  when  he  was  elected, 
conditions  was  different.  He  couldn't  cope  with 
things  as  they  developed,  but  he  recognized  a  man 
that  could,  and  so  do  we.  That  is  what  he  meant, 


TWO  GREAT  MATTERS      117 

and  we  are  going  to  carry  out  his  will,  so  help  me 
God." 

There  was  a  terrible  earnestness  in  the  big  work- 
man's manner.  He  smote  the  table  with  his  heavy 
fist  as  he  made  that  last  solemn  assertion.  Steb- 
bing  stared  at  him  fascinated.  He  had  really 
given  little  thought  in  the  turmoil  of  his  mind  to 
the  Bishop's  action.  Could  the  old  man  have 
meant  that  ?  It  was  impossible.  Was  there  any- 
thing in  that  rumor  of  a  secret  compact  they  had 
all  agreed  to?  Impossible  again;  yet  what  had 
been  that  expression  he  had  surprised  on  Margaret 
Wharton's  face?  Nonsense!  Penrod  was  mad; 
it  could  not  be. 

"  Penrod,"  he  began  slowly,  realizing  the  in- 
tense seriousness  of  this  last  development,  "  I  beg 
you,  I  entreat  you,  not  to  mention  that  scene  at 
the  Bishop's  bedside,  and  to  refrain  from  discuss- 
ing further  these  foolish  dreams.  As  God  is  my 
Judge,  knowing  myself  as  I  do,  I  am  sure  there 
is  not  a  man  on  earth  less  worthy  of  the  office 
you  propose.  I  shall  work  against  it  in  every  way 
that  I  can." 


n8          THE   BETTER  MAN 

"  You  won't  refuse  it  if  it  comes,  though?  " 

"  How  can  a  man  say  that?  "  admitted  the  other 
reluctantly;  "  perhaps  it  might  come  to  me  in  such 
an  imperative  way  that  the  call  could  not  be  dis- 
regarded. But  as  God  is  my  Helper " 

"  Mr.Stebbing,"  interrupted  Penrod  stubbornly, 
"  if  it  is  in  my  power,  as  God  is  my  Helper,  I  will 
do  this  thing." 

"You  are  absolutely  hopeless,"  said  Stebbing. 
"  You  have  not  the  correct  view  of  the  situation, 
and  then  I  know  you  will  be  practically  alone  in 
this  endeavor." 

"  We'll  say  no  more  about  it  now.  They  can't 
call  a  council  until  sixty  days  after  the  Bishop's 
funeral,  by  the  Canons,  I  believe.  I  looked  that 
up,  you  see." 

"  Those  who  love  me  will  do  nothing  for  me  in 
that  endeavor." 

"  Look  here,  Mr.  Stebbing,  can't  you  see  that  it 
ain't  because  we  love  you  so  much,  which  we  do, 
but  it's  because  we  love  Christ  and  His  Church 
and  mankind.  We  know  you,  we  know  the  con- 
ditions here,  and  we're  going  to  put  it  squarely 


TWO   GREAT  MATTERS      119 

up  to  you  and  God  as  to  whether  you  are  to  be 
our  apostle;  but  I'll  say  no  more  about  it  now. 
I've  got  another  concern  on  my  mind." 

"  I  hope  it  is  of  more  importance  and  more 
practical  than  the  matter  you  have  just  dis- 
cussed." 

"  It  ain't  the  one  thing  or  the  other.  Nothing 
is  more  important  than  the  leadership  of  the 
Church  at  this  juncture,  and  nothing  is  more  prac- 
tical than  giving  the  job  to  you;  but  aside  from 
that,  there  can't  be  anything  much  more  important 
than  this.  You  know,  since  I  am  president  of 
our  union,  and  a  member  of  the  Central  Board 
of  Federation  in  town,  that  I  know  pretty  much 
all  that  is  going  on,  and  there  is  going  to  be  within 
the  next  thirty  days  or  so  a  strike  on  the  Traction 
Company's  lines,  unless  something  is  done  to  pre- 
vent it.  The  hours  are  long,  the  work  hard,  and 
the  pay  is  lower  among  the  employees  of  the  Trac- 
tion Company  than  in  organized  labor  anywhere 
else,  and  General  Wharton  is  going  to  run  up 
against  the  biggest  thing  that  he  has  ever  tackled, 
or  I  am  no  judge.*' 


120          THE   BETTER  MAN 

"  I  have  always  heard  General  Wharton  spoken 
of  as  a  perfectly  fair  man." 

"  Fair!  He  is  as  fair  as  Hell!  He  is  abso- 
lutely impartial,  and  treats  everybody  alike,  so  far 
as  that  goes." 

"  But  his  hospital,  his  sick  benefits,  the " 

"  They  are  all  right  in  their  way.  They  are 
like  St.  Hilda's  mission.  But  a  real  man  would 
rather  have  better  hours  and  better  pay,  and  pro- 
vide for  things  like  that  himself.  They  want  a 
half-holiday,  weekly,  with  pay,  in  the  summer, 
like  other  workmen,  and  once  in  a  while  a  Sunday 
off,  to  go  to  church  and  get  acquainted  with  their 
children.  The  cars  have  to  be  equipped  with 
airbrakes,  and  there's  got  to  be  some  improve- 
ments in  the  car  vestibules  before  winter.  You 
know  how  cold  they  are." 

"  Yes,  I  have  always  made  it  a  point  to  ride  on 
the  front  platform." 

"  You  ride  for  one  trip — the  motorman  rides  for 
twenty.  I  ain't  enough  of  a  motorman  to  under- 
stand it  all,  but  the  men  are  going  to  put  it 
squarely  up  to  the  General,  and  if  he  don't  do 


TWO   GREAT  MATTERS      121 

something  there'll  be  the  worst  strike  in  history. 
There  ain't  no  *  L '  roads,  and  the  one  Subway, 
incomplete  as  yet,  would  not  greatly  relieve  the 
situation ;  so  you  see  the  surface  cars  have  it  pretty 
nearly  their  own  way." 
""Why  do  you  tell  me  all  this?" 

"  Because  I  want  you  to  do  something." 

"  What  do  you  want  me  to  do?  " 

"  If  I  could  tell  you  that,  I  ought  to  be  the 
man  to  be  Bishop,"  answered  Penrod  tersely. 

"  Well,"  said  Stebbing,  "  this  appeal  is  more 
congenial  to  me  than  the  other.  I  can  do  some- 
thing, and  I  will.  There  are  a  number  of  these 
men  in  my  congregation.  I'll  get  a  bunch  of 
them  together,  and  we'll  talk  it  over  informally." 

"  That  is  right." 

"  Then  I  will  go  to  General  Wharton." 

"  Good  again.  But  if  that  doesn't  work,  what 
then?  Which  side  will  you  be  on,  the  people's 
or  the  General's?" 

"  Penrod,"  said  Stebbing,  looking  his  man  in- 
tently in  the  face;  "you  say  you  know  me,  and 
I  will  prove  it.  Which  side  will  I  take?  " 


122          THE  BETTER  MAN 

"  The  right  side,  by  Heaven ! "  cried  Penrod. 

"Thank  you,"  returned  the  other;  "I  would 
rather  have  you  say  that  than  be  anything  you 
suggest.  I  will  try  to  be  on  the  right  side.  If 
that  be  the  men's  side,  so  much  the  better;  if  it 
be  on  General  Wharton's  side,  so  much  the  worse ; 
but  whatever  side  I  am  on,  my  sympathies  and  my 
affections  and  everything  I  have  will  be  at  the 
service  of  the  men." 

"  It  ain't  a  very  high-class  crowd,  you  know ; 
it  ain't  highly  skilled  labor,  like  ours;  when  we 
strike  it  means  something;  but  there  is  an  awful 
lot  of  them,  and  as  is  always,  there  is  some  devils 
and  some  fools  among  them.  Even  the  Church 
has  her  share  of  that  kind  of  people,  you  know." 

"  Yes,"  assented  Stebbing,  "  and  the  problem 
is  to  keep  the  fools  and  the  devils  from  disturbing 
the  rest,  while  we  make  over  both  classes.  I  am 
glad  you  told  me  this ;  I  will  act  at  once." 

"  By  the  way,"  said  Penrod  slowly,  "  ain't  you 
got  some  influence  with  Miss  Wharton?  I've 
seen  her  down  here  at  services  a  number  of 
times." 


TWO  GREAT  MATTERS      123 

"  No.  Whatever  influence  I  had  with  her  is 
gone.  She  is  going  to  be  another  man's  wife." 

For  the  life  of  him,  he  couldn't  keep  the  bitter- 
ness and  disappointment  from  his  voice.  The 
older  man  looked  at  him  quickly. 

"  What  fools  some  women  be,"  he  said  sa- 
piently. 

"  Penrod !  "  roared  Stebbing  fiercely,  stepping 
forward. 

"There,  there,  Mr.  Stebbing,"  said  the  other 
man,  "  it  was  just  a  general  observation.  Now, 
good-by,  sir." 

"  Please  don't  make  general  observations  of  that 
kind  when  Miss  Wharton's  name  is  mentioned  in 
the  future,"  returned  Stebbing  shortly. 

Penrod  turned  back  and  caught  Stebbing  by  the 
shoulder. 

"  I  like  you,"  he  said.  "  By  Heaven,  I  am 
big  and  strong  enough  to  throw  you  out  of  the 
window;  but  you'd  hit  me  in  a  moment  if  I  gave 
you  half  a  chance.  Well,  I  ain't  going  to  do 
it.  Some  clergymen  ain't  men,  but  you're  a  man, 
and  that  is  why  I  like  you." 


124          THE   BETTER  MAN 

It  was  impossible  to  resist.  Stebbing  laughed. 
. "  I  don't  know  about  your  being  able  to  throw 
me  out  of  the  window,"  he  said.  "  You  might 
if  I'd  let  you  get  hold  of  me,  but  I  could  stall 
you  off  until  I  had  pounded  you  up  pretty  well. 
I  can  box,  and  you  can't." 

"  We'd  have  a  pretty  good  fight,  wouldn't  we?  " 
laughed  Penrod.  "  Well,  don't  forget  about  the 
Bishopric  and  the  strike." 

"I  shall  remember  both;  but  if  you  want  to 
do  me  a  service,  you  forget  all  about  the  first  your- 
self." 

"  Not  on  your  life,"  said  the  big  man,  turning 
away,  this  time  for  good. 


CHAPTER  V 

BROKEN,   BUT  BINDING 

WHILE  this  interview  was  taking  place  a  scarcely 
less  interesting  conversation  was  being  held  be- 
tween General  Wharton  and  his  daughter.  The 
General  had  been  very  busy  that  day  between  the 
Bishop's  death  and  his  own  extensive  affairs,  and 
he  had  not  had  time  for  the  conference  which 
he  had  promised  himself  to  hold  with  his  daugh- 
ter at  the  earliest  possible  moment,  until  nightfall, 
and  the  two  who  lived  alone,  the  General  being 
a  widower,  had  repaired  to  the  library  for  a  little 
after-dinner  chat. 

"  My  dear,"  said  the  General,  putting  down  his 
coffee  cup  and  lighting  his  cigar,  "  I  am,  of  course, 
greatly  grieved  and  shocked  by  the  death  of  the 
Bishop,  whom  we  have  known  and  loved  so  many 
years,  but  now  that  he  has  gone  there  are  matters 
of  moment  about  which  it  is  necessary  I  should 
have  a  word  or  two  with  you." 

The  General  paused  and  examined  the  lighted 
125 


126          THE   BETTER   MAN 

end  of  his  cigar  carefully.  It  was  the  girl  who 
broke  the  silence. 

"I  supposed  that  you  would  have  something 
to  say,  although  I  scarcely  see  why  I  am  con- 
cerned." 

"  Are  you  not  concerned  in  everything  that  con- 
cerns me?  " 

11  Certainly." 

"  Well,  I  am  deeply  concerned  in  the  selection 
of  a  successor  for  Bishop  Wentworth.  The  wel- 
fare of  the  Church  and  the  city  are  very  near  to 
me." 

"  That  of  course." 

"And  I  need  scarcely  point  out  to  you  that 
upon  the  successor  to  the  Bishop  will  devolve  great 
burdens  and  responsibilities." 

The  girl  nodded  acquiescently. 

"  Certainly,  that  is  true." 

"  Bishop  Wentworth  was  old-fashioned,  I  will 
admit;  ultra-conservative — I  am  conservative  my- 
self— but  there  are  times,  you  understand,  when 
a  bolder  and  more  vigorous  policy  would  produce 
better  results." 


BROKEN,   BUT  BINDING     127 

"  I  have  always  believed  that  Bishop  Went- 
worth  realized  that  his  end  was  approach- 
ing, and  for  the  last  five  or  six  years  he  has 
been  content  to  keep  things  going  and  leave 
the  working  out  of  new  problems  to  his  suc- 
cessor." 

"  Exactly.  We  cannot,  of  course,  get  a  man 
like  Bishop  Wentworth  to  succeed  to  the  office, 
and  we  don't  want  exactly  that  kind — I  mean  no 
disrespect  to  the  Bishop  whatsoever,  you  under- 
stand." 

"  I  understand  perfectly." 

"  We  want  a  man  who  is  reasonably  conserva- 
tive and  has  some  of  the  qualities  Bishop  Went- 
worth showed.  A  man  of  tact,  graceful  bearing, 
distinguished  appearance,  oratorical  ability,  and  a 
man  of  high  standing  and  position  in  the  best 
circles  of  the  community,  who  can  conciliate  and 
attach  the  old  conservative  elements  to  himself, 
and  yet  who  has  sufficient  flexibility  and  adapta- 
bility to  do  some  things  which  Bishop  Wentworth 
could  not,  or  did  not,  do." 

"Are  these  your  ideas  as  to  the  qualities  of 


128          THE   BETTER   MAN 

a  Bishop  in  the  Church  of  God,  father?  "  asked 
Margaret,  smiling  faintly. 

"  I — er — in  the  main,  yes.  Are  they  not  yours 
also?" 

"  Well,  I  should  say  that  we  want  first  of  all 
a  manly  man,  a  godly  man,  a  zealous  man,  a  man 
who  has  qualities  of  leadership,  a  self-sacrificing 
man,  and  above  all,  a  man  who  will  understand 
and  sympathize  with  the  plain  people." 

"  Why,  all  that  goes  without  saying,  of  course; 
but  we  need  these  other  qualities  I  mentioned 
primarily." 

"  Yes,  but  first  of  all  we  want  a  man  who  will 
lead,  and  that  means  a  man  who  will  fight,"  said 
the  girl  dreamily,  so  absorbed  in  that  which  she 
was  trying  to  picture  into  a  familiar  likeness  that 
for  a  moment  she  forgot  her  father,  who  stared 
at  her  in  some  amazement. 

"  I  had  not  thought,"  he  remarked,  "  that  Bar- 
more  was  exactly  the  kind  of  a  man  you  were  de- 
scribing." 

"Mr.  Barmorel"  exclaimed  the  girl;  "were 
you  thinking  of  him  ?  " 


BROKEN,   BUT  BINDING     129 

"  Certainly.     Were  not  you?  " 

«  NO.     I " 

"Of  whom,  then?" 

"  Well — really,  I  was  thinking  in  the  abstract," 
faltered  the  woman. 

"  Humph  1"  said  the  General,  "you  had  the 
most  concentrated  look  on  your  face  for  vague 
indefinite  thoughts  that  I  have  ever  seen.  How- 
ever, I  was  thinking  of  Barmore,  and  I  tell  you 
that  others  are  thinking  of  him  for  Bishop  of  this 
Diocese." 

"  I  had  scarcely  considered  him  in  that  light 
at  all." 

"  Well,  do  it  now.  Doesn't  he  quite  fill  the  bill 
as  I  have  outlined  it?" 

"Your  bill,  certainly;  but " 

"  Well,  doesn't  he  fill  yours,  too?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  began  the  girl  uncertainly. 

"  Good  Heavens !  Margaret,"  cried  her  father, 
"  aren't  you  going  to  marry  him  ?  Don't  you  love 
him?" 

"  Yes,  I  am  going  to  marry  him,  and  I  certainly 
wouldn't  do  that  if  I  didn't  love  him,  would  I  ?  " 


i3o          THE  BETTER  MAN 

"How  do  I  know?" 

"Of  course,  I  care  a  great  deal  for  him, 
but  I  had  never  considered  him  as  a  possible 
Bishop." 

"Well,  you  can  go  further  than  that  now," 
said  the  General;  "you  can  look  upon  him  as  a 
probable  one.  The  man  I  back,  I  need  scarcely 
remind  you,  has  a  splendid  chance  to  succeed." 

"  Have  you  so  much  power  in  the  councils  of 
the  Church,  father?"  asked  the  girl. 

"  It  is  not  that  exactly,  but  I  have  observed 
that  my  colleagues  of  the  Standing  Committee  and 
the  older  and  more  influential  clergy  and  laity, 
with  whom  I  am  brought  in  contact,  usually  are 
apt  to  be  of  my  opinion.  I  wish  to  speak  with 
becoming  modesty,  but  I  feel  that  perhaps  the 
most  valuable  single  asset  Mr.  Barmore  could 
have  would  be  my  influence." 

"  Do  you  think,"  asked  the  girl,  "  that  it  is  ex- 
actly in  good  taste  for  you  to  exert  your  influence 
to  have  Mr.  Barmore  made  Bishop,  now  that  our 
engagement  has  been  announced?  Would  it  not 
look  like  a  family  affair?  " 


BROKEN,   BUT  BINDING     131 

"  I  never  thought  of  that,"  admitted  her  father 
reluctantly.  He  looked  very  much  puzzled  for 
a  moment.  "  It  certainly  does  complicate  matters. 
You  know  that  whether  Barmore  were  engaged  to 
you  or  not,  I  should  still  be  for  him.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  anticipating  that  dear  old  Bishop  Went- 
worth  would  soon  be  called  to  his  rest,  we  have 
given  the  matter  some  thought,  and  it  had  been 
talked  over  among  some  of  us  before  anything 
happened  to  the  Bishop.  We  were  unanimous  in 
our  judgment  that  Barmore  would  make  the  very 
best  Bishop  for  this  great  Diocese.  He  has  youth, 
health,  strength,  charming  personality,  an  agree- 
able manner;  he  is  a  remarkably  good  preacher, 
a  good  organizer,  and  has  the  faculty  of  getting 
money  out  of  people  who  have  it,  and  is  altogether 
the  most  popular  clergyman  in  town.  You  agree 
with  me,  I  am  sure." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  the  girl,  "  all  that  is  true;  but 
how  are  you  going  to  support  his  candidacy  when 
you  are  expecting  him  to  be  your  son-in-law  ?  " 

"  If  that  engagement  hadn't  been  announced  in 
such  a  hurry,"  said  the  General. 


132          THE   BETTER   MAN 

"  Yes,"  returned  the  woman  somewhat  listlessly, 
"  if  it  only  hadn't  been  announced." 

"  There  must  be  some  way  out  of  the  dilemma," 
continued  the  General,  rising  and  pacing  the  li- 
brary with  nervous  steps.  "  We  really  cannot  let 
such  a  little  thing  as  that  announcement  ruin  so 
promising  an  undertaking." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Margaret,  so  gravely,  that 
her  father,  preoccupied  as  he  was,  failed  to  see 
the  sarcasm  in  her  voice,  "  not  even  a  broken  heart 
should  be  permitted  to  disturb  any  of  your  plans." 

The  General  looked  up  at  her. 

"  Do  you  care  as  much  for  him  as  that?  "  he 
asked  quickly. 

"No,  no!"  asserted  the  girl  vehemently;  "I 
suppose  I  care  sufficiently  for  him  to  marry  him, 
but " 

"  It  was  not  like  that  when  I  married  your 
mother,"  said  the  General  softly,  looking  up  to- 
ward a  picture  on  the  wall,  the  exquisite  face  and 
figure  of  Margaret's  prototype;  "but  I  suppose 
modern  conditions  are  changed.  It  is  thought 
foolish  nowadays  to  be  devotedly  in  love." 


BROKEN,   BUT  BINDING     133 

"  Why  continue  the  discussion  in  this  vein, 
father?"  asked  the  woman.  "You  have  either 
got  to  discover  some  plan  to  overcome  the  positive 
outcry  which  would  be  raised  when  it  becomes 
known  that  you  are  supporting  your  son-in-law  for 
your  Episcopate,  or  you  will  have  to  withdraw 
your  co-operation." 

"  The  last  is  impossible.  I  am  confident  Bar- 
more  is  the  only  man  to  meet  modern  conditions 
in  this  community,  and  he  must  be  made  Bishop 
whatever  betides." 

"  The  dilemma  appears  insuperable,  then,"  said 
the  girl  gravely. 

"  It  would  be,  unless "  the  General  paused. 

"Unless  what?" 

"  Unless  the  engagement  were  to  be  denied." 

"  But  it  can't  be  denied;  it  is  true." 

"  Suppose  that  it  were  not  true.  Suppose, 
for  instance,  that  the  engagement  were  broken 
off." 

"  Then,  of  course,  it  would  be  proper  to  make 
such  a  statement;  but  it  is  not  broken  off." 

"But  could  it  not  be?" 


134          THE   BETTER   MAN 

"It  could  be,  of  Course,"  answered  the  girl, 
"  if  there  were  any  reason  for  it." 

She  should  have  been  dismayed  beyond  measure 
at  such  a  proposition,  but  she  could  not  control 
the  wild  leap  in  her  heart  at  the  prospect  of  free- 
dom. The  very  fact  that  it  was  so  agreeable  to 
her  intensified  her  determination  to  abide  by  her 
agreement.  She  thought  her  salvation  lay  that 
way,  and  that  way  alone. 

"There  is  no  reason  on  earth  why  I  should 
break  the  engagement,"  she  added  finally. 

"  Reason !  "  exclaimed  the  General,  opposition 
intensifying  his  determination;  "  I  tell  you  we  must 
make  that  man  Bishop,  and  we  cannot  do  it  if  he 
is  engaged  to  you." 

"  Cannot  the  others  do  it  without  you?  " 

"  I  couldn't  be  neutral  in  such  a  contest.  The 
fact  that  I  was  not  actively  advocating  him  would 
tell  heavily  against  Bannore,  and  I  need  scarcely 
disguise  from  you  that  he  may  have  to  fight  hard 
for  succession." 

"  If  I  know  Mr.  Bannore,"  said  the  girl  swiftly, 
"  he  will  not  turn  his  hand  over  for  the  office." 


BROKEN,   BUT   BINDING     135 

She  might  not  love  him  as  he  desired,  or  her  father 
hoped,  but  at  least  she  could  defend  him  from  any 
suspicion  of  unworthiness.  "  He  is  not  the  kind 
of  a  man  who  would  work  for  such  an  office." 

"  Of  course,  of  course,"  said  the  General  sooth- 
ingly, "  and  all  he  will  have  to  do  will  be  to  put 
himself  in  our  hands." 

She  had  often  heard  her  father  use  that  expres- 
sion in  things  less  sacred  and  holy  than  the  choice 
of  a  prelate.  However,  she  was  not  there  to 
judge  her  father  or  to  censure  him.  She  put  the 
thought  out  of  her  mind,  and  returned  to  her 
point. 

"  I  do  not  see  what  can  be  done." 

"  There  is  nothing  that  can  be  done,  unless  you 
give  him  up." 

"  Give  him  up !  " 

"  I  know  I  am  asking  a  great  deal  of  you,  Mar- 
garet; but  it  is  not  final.  All  you  have  to  do  is 
to  allow  me  to  deny  the  engagement,  and  after 
it  is  over " 

"Oh!  you  simply  mean  to  deny  the  engagement 
in  public." 


136          THE  BETTER  MAN 

"Well — er "  The  General  was  overcome 

with  confusion. 

"  Father,  how  could  you  ?  "  asked  his  daughter. 
"  This  I  will  do.  I  will  absolutely,  finally,  and 
definitely  break  off  the  engagement.  There  shall 
be  no  restrictions  of  any  sort  in  my  action  or  my 
words." 

"  Does  that  mean  that  you  will  not  marry 
him?" 

"  It  only  means  that  the  engagement  is  broken 
off.  If  what  you  desire  is  brought  about,  and 
if  he  should  then  be  of  the  same  mind  as  he  is 
now,  and  I  am " 

"  Would  you  re-engage  yourself  to  him  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  even  promise  that,  father.  I  can 
only  say  that  I  am  open  to  be  won." 

"I  see,"  said  the  General  reflectively;  "well, 
that  is  very  satisfactory  to  me." 

Margaret  smiled  faintly. 

"  Your  heart  is  not  particularly  engaged,"  she 
said.  "  I  wonder  what  Mr.  Barmore  will  think 
of  it." 

"Leave  him  to  me,"  answered  the  General 


BROKEN,  BUT  BINDING     137 

confidently;  "I  will  persuade  him;  and  really, 
Margaret,  I  think  this  is  exceedingly  noble  of  you, 
to  sacrifice  your  happiness  for  the  sake  of  the 
Church,  and " 

"  Please  don't,  father.  I  am  more  than  willing 
to  do  it." 

If  she  had  expressed  her  real  desire,  she  would 
have  said,  "Glad!";  but  that  was  not  to  be 
thought  of,  or  at  least  not  to  be  admitted  in 
public. 

"Then  it  is  settled?" 

"  No,"  answered  the  girl,  "  it  is  not  settled;  not 
until  Mr.  Barmore  has  acquiesced." 

"  We  will  have  him  here  in  ten  minutes,"  said 
the  General  briskly,  "  and  we'll  get  this  matter 
closed  up  immediately.  There  will  be  time  to  get 
the  denial  in  the  evening  papers,  and  then  the  field 
will  be  clear." 

"  You  seem  very  confident." 

"  I  am  absolutely  sure  of  it." 

He  touched  the  bell  upon  his  desk  and  bade  the 
servant  who  responded  to  call  up  Mr.  Barmore 
and  say  to  him  that  General  and  Miss  Wharton 


138  THE   BETTER   MAN 

desired  very  much  to  see  him  at  their  home  at  the 
very  earliest  possible  moment  he  could  visit  them. 

As  the  servant  withdrew,  the  girl  turned  to  her 
father.  "  There  is  no  arriere  pensee  in  your  ac- 
tion or  desire,  father?" 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"  Don't  you  approve  of  my  engagement?  Don't 
you  want  me  to  marry  Mr.  Barmore?  " 

"  I  approve  of  it  highly.  He  is  quite  the  sort 
of  young  man  I  would  like  you  to  marry.  He 
has  many  good  qualities.  He  lacks  money,  I  be- 
lieve his  means  are  small,  but,  thank  God,  I  can 
supply  all  that  is  necessary,  and  I  am  a  good 
enough  American  to  be  proud  to  commit  you  to 
the  care  of  so  splendid  a  young  man  of  our  own 
people.  I  shall  be  glad,  indeed,  to  see  you  his 
wife.  Our  own  position  is  everything  that  can  be 
desired,  socially  and  financially,  and  when  you  add 
ecclesiastically,  it  seems  to  me  I  could  wish  nothing 
more  for  you." 

He  smiled  tenderly  at  her,  but  she  looked  at  him 
vaguely,  hardly  hearing  the  close  of  his  rather 
long  answer. 


BROKEN,   BUT  BINDING     139 

"  I  want  to  ask  you  something,"  she  began  ab- 
ruptly. "  What  did  the  Bishop  mean  by  laying 
his  hand  on  Mr.  Stebbing's  head?  " 

"  Margaret,"  said  the  General  severely,  "  I  at- 
tach no  importance  or  significance  to  that  action 
whatsoever.  I  do  not  think  he  meant  anything 
by  it,  and  I  have  therefore  taken  steps  to  prevent 
its  being  known  until  after  the  election.  The  doc- 
tors, the  nurse,  Barmore,  Dr.  Lydon,  Mrs.  Went- 
worth,  and  yourself  were  the  only  persons  present, 
and  you  all  have  been  charged  not  to  mention 
it." 

"  Mr.  Stebbing  was  there." 

"  Yes,  but  I  hardly  think  he  will  discuss 
it." 

"No,  I  don't  think  he  would.  I  know  he 
wouldn't." 

"  Well,  then,  it  will  never  get  out." 

"  But  what  surprises  me  is  that  you  take  all 
this  precaution  to  keep  it  secret,  if  you  attach,  as 
you  say,  no  importance  to  it." 

"  If  I  attached  any  importance  to  it,  my  dear," 
said  the  General,  "  I  should  feel  in  honor  bound 


i4o         THE  BETTER  MAN 

to  let  it  be  known.  The  fact  that  I  attach  no 
importance  to  it  does  not  mean  that  everyone  else 
would  agree  with  me.  There  might  be  some  who 
would  think — who  might  believe  that — er — 
Bishop  Wentworth  did — well,  was  designating  his 
successor." 

"In  Mark  Stebbing?"  asked  the  girl. 

"  In  Mark  Stebbing." 

"  Why,  it  is  impossible." 

"  If  I  am  able  to  predict  the  future,  it  will  be 
Mark  Stebbing  who  will  be  Barmore's  most  dan- 
gerous opponent,"  returned  her  father  coolly. 

"  But  he  lacks  so  many  of  those  qualities  which 
you  have  set  forth  as  necessary  for  the  successor 
to  the  office." 

"Exactly;  and  that  is  why  I  am  for  Barmore. 
Stebbing  is  a  very  worthy  young  man.  He  and  I 
disagree  radically  on  many  important  matters,  and 
our  differences  are  vital,  but  I  cannot  deny  that 
he  has  many  chances  for  the  succession.  He  is 
intensely  popular  with  all  those  parties  and  move- 
ments in  the  Diocese  which  are  not  represented 
by  me.  You  understand  that  I  am  not  putting 


BROKEN,   BUT  BINDING     141 

myself  at  the  head  of  everything, — I  only  mean 
that  the  wealthy  and  influential  section  are  with 
me ;  but  I  am  frank  to  say  that,  among  the  younger 
clergy  and  among  the  delegates  from  the  humbler 
parishes,  Stebbing  has  an  amazing  strength.  That 
church  of  his,  with  its  queer  ideas,  is  packed  to 
the  doors  three  times  a  Sunday.  He  gets  more 
people  there  than  we  can  get  at  St.  Hilda's  mis- 
sion, although  there  is  absolutely  nothing  that 
money  can  buy  that  we  have  not  given  to  those 
people  down  there." 

"  I  see,"  said  the  girl,  as  her  father  paused, 
"  and  if  it  should  get  about  that  the  Bishop  had 
asked  for  Stebbing,  and  had  laid  his  hand  on  his 
head  as  he  did,  the  people  might  think  that " 

"  Exactly.  Therefore,  I  have  arranged  that  it 
shall  not  be  known." 

"There  was  one  other  person  in  the  room, 
father." 

"One  other  person?" 

"  Yes." 

"Who?" 

"  The  second  nurse." 


i42          THE   BETTER   MAN 

"  I  take  it  that  the  head  nurse  will  look  after 
her." 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  about  that.  Do  you  know 
who  she  was?  " 

"  Hardly ;  how  should  I  know  the  names  of 
nurses?"  answered  the  General  with  some  slight 
impatience. 

"  I  happen  to  know  her,  father,  and  she  is  a 
very  nice  girl,  indeed." 

"  She  may  be,  but  I  have  no  interest  in  her 
qualities,"  said  the  General  indifferently. 

"Well,  you  will,  when  you  know  who  she  is. 
Her  name  is  Penrod." 

"What!  Is  she  the  daughter  of  that  labor 
agitator?" 

"  She  is." 

The  General  thought  deeply  for  a  moment. 
Once  again  he  summoned  the  servant,  and  this  time 
asked  to  be  put  in  connection  with  the  Bishop's 
residence.  When  the  bell  rang,  he  asked  to  speak 
to  the  head  nurse,  Miss  Stirling,  who  he  knew 
would  still  be  in  the  house. 

"  This  is  General  Wharton,"  he  began.    "  That 


BROKEN,   BUT   BINDING     143 

assistant  that  you  have  there,  Miss  Stirling,  Miss 
— er — Penrod,  is  she  still  there?" 

"No,  General  Wharton;  she  left  immediately 
after  the  Bishop's  death.  She  was  only  called  in 
to  assist  me  at  the  last  moment,  and  as  she  had 
a  pressing  case  on  hand,  I  did  not  detain  her. 
There  was  nothing  she  could  do." 

"  Did  you  enjoin  her  to  say  nothing  about  what 
transpired  at  the  Bishop's  bedside?  " 

"  I  did  not  have  an  opportunity  to  do  so,  but 
I  am  sure  that  she  will  make  no  mention  of  it,  un- 
less to  her  own  people.  Professional  etiquette 
v/ould  forbid  it,  sir,  you  know." 

The  General  locked  his  teeth  savagely,  but  con- 
trolled himself. 

"  Very  well,  Miss  Stirling.  If  you  get  into 
communication  with  her,  I  wish  you  would  ask  her 
to  say  nothing  about  it.  No,  it  is  of  no  conse- 
quence." 

He  hung  up  the  receiver. 

"  She  got  away,"  he  said,  turning  to  his  daugh- 
ter, "  before  Miss  Stirling  had  an  opportunity  to 
tell  her  to  keep  quiet  about  what  happened." 


144         THE  BETTER  MAN 

"  Everybody  will  know  about  it,  then,"  said  the 
girl. 

"  Miss  Stirling  said  something  about  profes- 
sional etiquette." 

The  girl  shook  her  head. 

"  She  certainly  will  tell  her  father,  and  you 
know  how  devoted  he  is  to  Mr.  Stebbing." 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so.     It  is  most  annoying." 

The  fact  itself  was  annoying.  The  further 
fact  that  he  had  lost  one  move  in  the  game  added 
to  his  exasperation.  Besides,  when  the  incident  be- 
came known,  as  it  certainly  would,  it  would  greatly 
add  to  the  difficulties  of  his  position.  The  Gen- 
eral did  not  propose  to  give  up ;  he  meant  to  fight 
that  much  harder  to  repair  his  blunder. 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  his  daughter,  who  had 
been  earnestly  watching  the  signs  of  the  conflict  on 
her  father's  face,  "  I  am  one  of  those  who  believe 
that  Bishop  Wentworth  did  mean  to  indicate  his 
successor." 

"  It  may  be,"  said  her  father,  "  but  that  makes 
no  difference  to  me.  I  cannot  allow  a  man  in 
the  last  stages  of  dissolution,  dying  of  paralysis, 


BROKEN,   BUT  BINDING     145 

and  mentally  incapable  at  the  moment  as  the  doc- 
tors think,  to  dictate  to  me  or  to  a  great  Diocese 
in  a  great  question  of  public  policy  as  that." 

"  It  is  certain  to  be  known." 

"  Yes,"  admitted  her  father,  "  but  if  I  were  to 
allow  it  to  be  published,  everybody  would  attach 
greater  importance  to  it  than  it  warrants." 

"  Well,  you  may  be  right,"  said  the  girl,  "  but 
so  far  as  I  am  concerned,  I  believe  that  the  Bishop 
intended  to  do  what  he  did,  and  that  he  knew 
what  he  was  doing  before  he  died." 

"  Good  Heavens,  Margaret !  You  wouldn't 
have  Stebbing  as  Bishop  of  this  great  Diocese, 
would  you  ?  " 

Margaret  Wharton  was  not  required  to  give 
her  opinion,  for  at  that  moment  the  servant  an- 
nounced the  Rev.  Lionel  Barmore.  He  came  in 
with  his  usual  quick,  elastic  step,  and  instantly 
turned  toward  Margaret,  putting  out  his  hands  as 
he  approached  her.  For  a  moment  he  forgot  the 
General,  and  Margaret  strove  to  infuse  into  her 
reception  of  him  some  of  the  ardor  and  affection 
which  permeated  his  being,  but  she  was  not  very 


i46          THE   BETTER   MAN 

successful,  and  Barmore,  a  man  of  delicate  per- 
ceptions, felt  distinctly  rebuffed.  He  mastered  his 
slight  confusion,  however,  with  his  usual  adapta- 
bility, and  turned  to  the  General. 

"  You  wanted  to  see  me,  General?  " 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Barmore,  Margaret  and  I  have  a 
delicate  matter  to  lay  before  you." 

"A  delicate  matter?" 

"  Exactly.  Suppose  that  you  tell  him,  Mar- 
garet." 

It  was  not  so  easy,  now  that  Barmore  was  there, 
to  dispose  of  his  engagement  as  the  General  had 
supposed,  and  he  rather  weakly  transferred  the  task 
to  his  daughter. 

"Mr.  Barmore,"  began  the  girl;  there  would 
at  least  be  no  shirking  or  faltering  on  her  part; 
"  my  father  wants  me  to  break  off  our  engage- 
ment." 

"  But,"  exclaimed  Barmore,  in  great  surprise, 
turning  to  the  General,  "  you  were  pleased  to  say 
last  night,  when  I  approached  you  on  the  subject, 
that  you  would  be  glad  to  give  me  your  daughter." 

"  Yes,  I  did  then,  and  it  is  true,"  said  the  Gen- 


BROKEN,   BUT  BINDING     147 

eral,  "  but  conditions  have  changed  since  then, 
and » 

"What  conditions?"  asked  Barmore,  drawing 
himself  up.  "  Has  anyone  aspersed  my  private 
character?  " 

"  God  forbid !     You  don't  understand  at  all." 

"  I  confess  that  I  do  not.  Will  you  kindly  en- 
lighten me?  " 

11  Well,  we  want  to  break " 

"  And  you,  Margaret — do  you  join  your  father 
in  this  respect?  " 

"  I  permit  him  to  make  it,"  said  the  girl  quietly. 

"  But  why?  You  gave  yourself  to  me  yester- 
day afternoon.  What  has  changed  you?  Good 
Heavens,  will  no  one  explain!  You  trifle  with 
me." 

He  passed  his  hand  over  his  forehead,  and 
turned  from  one  to  the  other. 

"  Well,  the  fact  is,  Barmore,"  said  the  General 
at  last,  "  we  are  going  to  make  you  a  Bishop." 

"  No,"  cried  Barmore,  "  I  am  not  the  proper 
man  to  be  Bishop  of  this  Diocese." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  young  man,  but  that  is 


148          THE   BETTER   MAN 

not  the  opinion  of  older  and  more  experienced 
men." 

"  But  what  has  that  got  to  do  with  my  engage- 
ment? Bishops  are  allowed  at  least  one  wife  by 
any  interpretation  of  Scripture,  and  even  if  this 
preposterous  plan  should  come  to  anything,  it 
would  not  render  me  less  available  as  a  suitor. 
You  have  no  objection  to  Bishops  as  Bishops, 
have  you,  Miss  Margaret?  " 

He  smiled  at  the  humor  of  the  situation,  al- 
though he  was  almost  distraught  with  anxiety. 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  the  girl,  but  she  looked 
at  her  father. 

"  Go  on  and  tell  him,"  said  the  General. 

"  Well,  you  see,  my  father's  influence  and  posi- 
tion are  large,  and,  he  thinks,  determining  factors 
in  the  election." 

"  I  should  suppose  that  they  would  be,"  said 
Barmore,  "  but " 

"Don't  you  see?  He  couldn't  work  for  the 
election  of  his  prospective  son-in-law." 

"Oh!  that  is  it?" 

"  That  is  it,"  answered  the  General. 


BROKEN,   BUT  BINDING     149 

"  So  you  proposed  to  Margaret  that  she  release 
me  until  after  the  election?" 

"  That  is  what  I  said." 

"  But  that  is  not  what  I  said,"  interposed  the 
girl. 

"And  what  did  you  say,  Margaret?" 

"  I  said  that  I  should  be  willing  to  release  you 
from  your  engagement  in  order  that  this  might 
be  brought  about,  which  so  many  people  seem  to 
wish,  and  that  you  might  be  elected  Bishop  of  this 
Diocese." 

"  And  after  the  election,  would  the  engagement 
be  renewed  again?  " 

"  That  would  depend  upon  whether  you  could 
win  my  consent  again." 

"  You,  of  course,  would  not  consent  to  a  tacit 
agreement?  " 

"  I  suggested  that  myself,"  said  the  General. 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  the  girl,  "  the  first  requi- 
site for  an  election  to  an  office  of  that  kind  is 
absolute  truth.  The  engagement  is  to  be  defi- 
nitely broken  off,  and  the  only  thing  that  I  will 
consent  to  say  is  that  after  the  matter  is  settled 


150          THE   BETTER   MAN 

I  will  be  subject  to  wooing  and  winning  like  any 
other  woman." 

"  But  you  love  me?" 

"  Yes.  Perhaps  not  as  you  love  me,  Mr.  Bar- 
more,  but "  she  hesitated. 

"  You  cared  enough  for  me  to  engage  yourself 
to  me  and  promise  to  marry  me " 

"  And  that  promise  I  will  keep  if  the  engage- 
ment be  not  broken." 

"  You  don't  love  anyone  else?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  woman,  her  determination  not 
to  do  so  blinding  her  to  the  fact  that  she 
did. 

"And  you  wish  to  give  me  up?" 

"  I  am  expressing  no  wish  to  do  so.  It  is  my 
father's  wish,  and  I  am  simply  acquiescing,  pro- 
vided you  and  he  agree." 

"  I  have  decided,  then,"  said  Barmore 
promptly;  "  I  would  not  give  you  up  to  be  Arch- 
bishop of  Canterbury.  General,  you  will  have  to 
find  some  other  man." 

"  My  dear  Barmore,"  said  the  General  ear- 
nestly, "  it  is  impossible.  There  is  no  other  man. 


BROKEN,   BUT   BINDING     151 

You  are  the  logical  and  proper  candidate  for  this 
office,  and  you  have  got  to  take  it.  As  a  Christian 
man  and  minister  you  can't  afford  to  put  your  per- 
sonal desires  before  your  duty  to  the  Diocese  and 
the  Church.  You  are  not  asked  to  choose  between 
the  woman  you  love  and  the  Church.  The  al- 
ternatives are  not  before  you  in  that  way.  My 
daughter  loves  no  other  man,  and  she  expresses  a 
sufficient  degree  of  affection  for  you  to  marry  you 
now,  if  it  were  proper.  On  the  whole,  I  think 
she  is  right  in  her  statement,  that  if  the  engage- 
ment is  to  be  broken  off,  it  must  be  broken  off 
entirely  without  any  private  understanding;  but 
she  says  she  is  a  woman  to  be  wooed  and  won 
after  the  whole  affair  is  settled.  There  is  no  rea- 
son on  earth  why  you  shouldn't  win  her  again,  as 
you  have  won  her  before." 

"  I  want  to  say,  General,  that  I  have  thought 
nothing  about  the  Episcopate.  I  have  never 
dreamed  of  it,  at  least,  in  this  connection,"  said 
Barmore,  "  and  I  don't  care  enough  about  it  to 
give  up  the  woman  I  love.  Unless  I  can  have 
more  positive  assurance  than  the  mere  permission 


152          THE  BETTER  MAN 

to  woo  her,  and  perhaps  fail  to  win  her  again,  I 
say  no." 

There  was  good  stuff  in  Barmore.  Margaret 
Wharton  saw  that,  and  it  gratified  her  pride  and 
spirit.  She  had  not  chosen  unworthily. 

"  I  should  feel  forever  humiliated,"  continued 
Barmore,  "  and  I  am  sure  that  my  wooing  would 
not  prosper  if  I  did  this.  It  does  not  greatly 
concern  me  to  be  Bishop  or  not  to  be  Bishop,  but 
it  does  greatly  concern  me  to  have  your  daughter 
as  my  wife." 

"  But  it  would  greatly  concern  me,  and  it  would 
still  more  greatly  concern  the  Church  not  to  have 
you  as  Bishop,"  persisted  the  General.  "  I  tell 
you  my  mind  is  made  up,  too.  Margaret  sees 
the  matter  as  I  do,  don't  you,  Margaret?  " 

"What  is  your  answer,  Margaret?"  asked 
Barmore,  turning  toward  her. 

"  I  will  be  quite  frank  with  you,  Mr.  Barmore. 
I  am  not  at  all  sure  that  I  think  enough  of  you 
to  be  your  wife,  although,  having  given  you  my 
word  that  I  would  do  so,  I  should  keep  it  without 
fail.  Now  that  I  have  said  this  to  you,  I  see  no 


BROKEN,   BUT  BINDING     153 

reason  why,  with  perfect  self-respect,  you  cannot 
acquiesce  to  the  situation.  I  believe  I  like  you 
better  to-day  than  I  ever  have  before." 

"  This  puts  a  new  complexion  upon  the  matter, 
doesn't  it?"  asked  the  clergyman  somewhat  bit- 
terly. 

The  girl  nodded. 

"  Entirely,"  she  said. 

"If  I  say  yes,  I  may  still  come  to  see  you;  I 
may  still  do  my  best  to  win  your  consent,  and " 

"  You  may  do  anything  you  like,"  interrupted 
the  girl  kindly;  "I  shall  be  glad  to  see  you  at 
any  time,  and  if  I  can  learn  to  love  you  as  you 
ought  to  be  loved,  I  shall  be  the  happiest  woman 
on  earth." 

"  You  understand,  General  Wharton,  that  it  is 
your  daughter's  wish  which  finally  determines  me, 
and  not  any  question  about  the  Episcopate.  I 
tell  you  frankly,  that  I  will  not  turn  over  my  hand 
to  receive  it." 

"  I  understand  perfectly,  Mr.  Barmore,  and  I 
honor  you  in  your  decision.  It  is  quite  settled, 
then?" 


154          THE   BETTER   MAN 

"  Quite,"  said  Barmore.  He  turned  slowly  and 
sadly  to  the  girl.  "  Miss  Wharton,  you  don't 
know  how  miserable  this  makes  me  feel." 

"  I  think  I  do  understand,"  said  the  girl,  "  and 
I  am  very  sorry." 

"Now,  as  to  the  Episcopate,"  interrupted  the 
General  bluntly. 

"  General,  please  don't  talk  about  it  to  me.  I 
am  so  wretched  over  these  developments  that  I 
— I  don't  seem  to  care.  What  you  do,  you  must 
do  yourself.  You  must  not  count  on  me." 

"All  right,"  said  the  General,  "that  is  the 
proper  attitude  to  take,  and  I  will  only  ask  this: 
There  will  be  no  discouragement  from  you,  will 
there?" 

"  No,  I  shall  be  entirely  passive.  If  in  the 
providence  of  God  this  thing  comes  to  me,  and  I 
can  make  Margaret  love  me,  I  shall  be  a  very 
happy  and  a  very  fortunate  man." 

"  I  think,"  said  the  General,  "  that  both  ends 
will  be  achieved." 

"  Make  no  promises  for  me,  father,"  said  the 
girl  quickly. 


BROKEN,   BUT   BINDING     155 

'•  I  am  not." 

"  You  are  as  free  as  air,  Margaret,"  said  Bar- 
more  formally,  "  but  you  know  that  I  love  you, 
and  my  dearest  hope  is  to  make  you  my  wife. 
Think  always  that  now  and  at  all  times  I  am  yours, 
and  for  you." 

He  sighed  deeply.  The  girl  impulsively  ex- 
tended both  of  her  hands  to  him.  He  took  them 
in  a  firm  grasp. 

"  I  know  that  you  love  me,  and  I  repeat 
I  am  very  sorry  that  it  all  has  happened  this 
way." 

He  could  not  trust  himself  to  speak.  It  was 
the  General  who  broke  the  silence. 

"  By  the  way,  Barmore,  that  action  of  the 
Bishop's  in  regard  to  Stebbing  is  bound  to  be 
known." 

"  I  thought  we  had  agreed  among  ourselves 
this  morning  to  say  nothing  about  it  ?  " 

"We  did,  but  we  forgot  one  person — the  as- 
sistant nurse.  She  is  Penrod's  daughter,  and " 

"  Everybody  will  know  it  through  her  from 
him." 


156          THE   BETTER  MAN 

"Of  course;  but  I  don't  regard  it  as  of  any 
great  importance  after  all.  Even  if  it  were  de- 
liberately intended  by  the  Bishop,  it  would  have 
little  force.  The  wish  of  a  stricken  old  man  has 
no  weight  with  the  calm  judgment  of  men  of 
affairs,  who  have  the  welfare  of  the  Dio- 
cese and  the  Church  so  much  at  heart  as  we 
have." 

"  I  cannot  think  of  Stebbing  as  Bishop,"  said 
Barmore  fiercely,  his  face  clouding  as  he  thought 
of  that  scene  in  that  very  library  so  short  a  time 
before. 

"Why,  what  is  there  between  you  and  Steb- 
bing?" asked  the  General,  looking  with  some 
amazement  at  the  angry,  resentful  look  on  the 
younger  man's  face.  "  I  thought  you  were  the 
greatest  of  friends,  and " 

"  We  were  until  yesterday." 

"  Yesterday  is  passed,"  interposed  Miss  Whar- 
ton,  swiftly  anxious  to  stop  further  discussion 
which  would  involve  further  revelations  of  a  dis- 
tressing nature. 

"  From  what  I  have  seen,  Mr.  Stebbing  will 


BROKEN,   BUT  BINDING     157 

be  your  most  dangerous  opponent,"  continued  the 
General. 

"  I  can't  believe  it,"  Barmore  asserted. 

"  It  is  true,  nevertheless." 

"  In  that  case,"  said  the  clergyman  quickly,  "  I 
shall  aid  you  in  everything  that  a  man  can  honor- 
ably do.  If  a  man  like  Stebbing  were  to  be  made 
Bishop  of  a  Diocese  like  this,  why " 

"  Don't  you  think,  Mr.  Barmore,"  interposed 
the  girl,  "  that  if  he  is  going  to  be  your  opponent 
you  should  say  nothing  about  him  ?  " 

"  I  can  see  his  disadvantages  and  disabilities, 
Barmore,  as  well  as  yourself,  and  perhaps,  as  Mar- 
garet says,  it  would  not  be  well  for  you  to  dwell 
upon  them,"  said  the  General. 

"  I  shall  say  nothing  more  about  him;  but  if 
it  lies  between  Stebbing  and  myself " 

"  Well,  it  does." 

11  Then,"  said  the  clergyman,  "  we  must  win 
for  the  sake  of  the  Church." 

"  That  is  what  I  say,  too.  Now,  you  must 
excuse  me,  I  have  to  go  down  town  this  evening," 
continued  the  General. 


i58          THE   BETTER   MAN 

"  I  also  must  go,"  said  Barmore,  "  I 
have  an  engagement."  He  looked  at  his 
watch. 

"  If  you  are  going  my  way,  I  will  take  you 
down  in  the  car  and  drop  you  off  wherever  you 
like." 

"  Thank  you." 

"  Wait,  then,  until  I  run  upstairs  a  moment  to 
change  my  coat." 

He  turned  and  left  the  two  together. 

"  Margaret,"  said  Barmore,  facing  her,  "  what 
it  costs  me  to  give  you  up,  even  for  a  time,  you 
can  never  know ;  and  I  am  only  consenting  because 
you  seem  to  wish  it,  and  also  now  to  prevent  a 
man  like  Stebbing  from  being  made  Bishop  of 
this  Diocese.  When  I  think  of  him  in  connection 
with  you  I  am  sorry  that  I  did  not  strike  harder. 
Please  believe  me  that  what  I  am  doing,  I  am 
doing  for  you." 

"  Mr.  Barmore,"  said  the  girl,  "  you  must  leave 
me  out  of  the  question  entirely." 

"  I  cannot  do  that.  If  I  did  not  think  that 
this  breaking  of  our  engagement  was  only  tern- 


BROKEN,   BUT   BINDING     159 

porary,  nothing  on  earth  would  induce  me  to  con- 
sent." 

"  Ready,  Barmore?"  asked  the  older  man,  re- 
turning. 

"  Yes,  General,  in  a  moment,"  was  the  answer. 
"  Remember,"  he  continued  to  the  woman  he 
loved,  regardless  of  her  father's  presence,  "  that 
whether  an  engagement  exists  between  us  or  not, 
I  am  more  yours  than  I  was  yours  when  you  so 
honored  me,  when  you  made  me  so  happy,  and  I 
shall  love  you  more  and  more  with  every  passing 
day." 

He  lifted  her  hands  to  his  lips  and  kissed  them 
long  and  tenderly.  Then  he  turned  away  with  the 
General  and  left  her  alone. 

There  was  a  strange  relief  to  her  in  his  de- 
parture. She  admired  him,  she  respected  him,  she 
liked  him,  but  she  was  glad  to  be  free;  yet  the 
future  impended  gravely.  In  view  of  what  she 
had  done  before,  she  felt  in  one  sense  bound  to 
him.  She  had  contemplated  marriage  with  him. 
Although  she  declared  she  was  entirely  free,  and 
that  the  engagement  was  absolutely  broken,  yet 


160          THE   BETTER   MAN 

she  had  a  feeling  that  she  could  not  resist  the  pres- 
sure that  would  be  brought  to  bear  upon  her  after- 
ward. 

The  only  thing  that  would  give  her  strength 
to  do  that  would  be  a  suddenly  developed  affection 
for  some  other  man.  Who  could  such  another 
man  be?  She  took  a  solemn  vow  in  her  heart 
that  she  would  never,  never  forgive  or  forget  the 
insult  that  had  been  put  upon  her  by  that  man 
whose  lips  had  been  pressed  upon  hers  with  such 
fire  and  passion  that  the  mere  recollection  of  it 
suffused  her  cheek.  Was  it  with  a  return  warmth, 
or  was  it  because  of  outraged  and  affronted  dig- 
nity? In  the  end  she  would  have  to  marry  Bar- 
more;  undoubtedly  he  would  be  made  Bishop,  and 
Stebbing  would  have  to  go  on  with  his  little  work 
in  his  little  corner  alone.  How  she  hated  that 
man! 

The  papers  next  morning  contained  two  an- 
nouncements. One  was  the  denial  of  the  reported 
engagement  between  General  Wharton's  daughter 
and  the  Rev.  Lionel  Barmore,  Rector  of  St. 
Hilda's  Church,  which  attracted  great  attention 


BROKEN,   BUT   BINDING     161 

among  the  members  of  the  exclusive  circles  to 
which  both  parties  alluded  to  naturally  belonged, 
and  which  sent  a  thrill  of  satisfaction  through  the 
heart  of  Mark  Stebbing  as  his  attention  was  called 
to  it  later  in  the  day.  The  other  announcement 
was  a  forerunner  of  trouble.  It  stated  that  the 
employees  of  the  Traction  Company  were  prepar- 
ing a  statement  of  grievances  to  submit  to  the 
management,  and  it  was  probable  that  unless  some 
agreement  could  be  arrived  at  a  strike  might  be 
the  result  in  the  near  future. 

No  one  connected  the  two  paragraphs,  but 
nevertheless  they  were  vitally  involved,  and  also 
with  a  third  notice  which  appeared  the  following 
day,  that  a  convention  for  the  election  of  a  suc- 
cessor to  Bishop  Wentworth  would  be  called  to 
meet  at  St.  Hilda's  Church  sixty  days  after  the 
Bishop's  funeral,  which  had  taken  place  that  morn- 
ing. 

So  the  pieces  were  set.  On  one  side  was  Steb- 
bing, the  candidate  of  the  meek  and  lowly,  among 
whom  there  were  many  strong,  and  the  leader  of 
whom  was  Penrod;  and  on  the  other  side  was 


162          THE   BETTER   MAN 

Barmore,  the  candidate  of  the  great  and  rich, 
among  whom  there  were  many  weak,  and  the 
leader  of  whom  was  Wharton.  Between  the  two 
stood  the  woman,  and  in  the  background  the  com- 
mon people,  the  impending  trouble  of  the  strike, 
and  a  great  body  of  discontented. 

Fortunately,  within  the  darkness,  God  was  keep- 
ing watch  above  His  own. 


BOOK  II 

STEBBING  VS.  BARMORE  FOR  THE 
METROPOLITAN  SEE 


CHAPTER  VI 

MARK  STEBBING  PLEADS   FOR  OTHERS— AND 
HIMSELF ! 

THE  two  months  that  had  elapsed  since  the 
Bishop's  death  had  been  crowded  with  matters  of 
deep  interest,  both  to  Church  and  State.  Negotia- 
tions between  the  employees  of  the  Traction  Com- 
pany and  the  owners  thereof  had  been  unduly  pro- 
tracted. General  Wharton,  who  represented  the 
company,  had  been  ruthlessly  imperious  from  the 
beginning.  Under  his  exacerbating  policy  the  em- 
ployees had  advanced  far  beyond  their  just  de- 
mands, and  were  now  insisting  upon  concessions 
which  would  have  ruined  the  company,  by  putting 
its  future  affairs  completely  at  the  mercy  of  the 
men.  The  real  grievances  had  thus  been  lost 
sight  of  in  the  false  issues  which  had  developed. 
Only  a  few  clear-headed  men,  like  Stebbing  and 
Penrod,  struggled  to  prevent  the  truth  from  being 

obscured,  but  they  were  in  the  hopeless  minority, 
165 


i66          THE  BETTER  MAN 

and  their  power  and  influence  were  gradually  weak- 
ening. 

The  public  took  a  deep  theoretical  interest  in 
the  dispute  going  on  between  the  rival  powers. 
Its  practical  interest  would  come  later,  when  the 
issue  would  finally  be  joined  and  the  cars  would 
cease  to  run  or  be  run  with  difficulty.  For  the 
present,  after  the  manner  of  the  American  people, 
it  was  more  amused  and  excited  than  anything  else. 
The  public  likes  a  game  of  bluff.  Nothing  so 
tickles  its  palate  as  an  ultimatum,  unless  it  be  a 
counter-ultimatum!  Things  had  been  going  on 
in  this  way  for  some  time,  and  the  issue  was  now 
about  to  be  joined. 

Stebbing  was  forced  into  a  position  of  great 
prominence  in  connection  with  this  labor  difficulty, 
because  of  his  affiliation  with  labor  unions  gen- 
erally and  his  sympathy  with  the  cause  of  the 
laboring  people.  This  would  have  been  enough 
to  have  given  him  great  notoriety,  but  his  candi- 
dacy for  the  vacant  Bishopric,  which  had  been 
given  wide  publicity  very  much  against  his  own 
wish,  had  added  a  piquant  touch  to  the  situation. 


MARK   STEBBING   PLEADS  167 

Although  Stebbing  had  again  and  again  declared 
that  he  would  not,  and  could  not,  indorse  the  final 
demands  of  the  Traction  employees,  that  they 
were  proceeding  to  arbitrary  and  unjust  lengths, 
yet  he  had  with  equal  vigor  at  the  same  time  set 
forth  the  real  and  true  grievances  that  they  pos- 
sessed. 

In  the  public  eye,  which  was  not  capable  of 
nice  distinctions,  he  and  Penrod  were  the  leaders 
of  the  labor  movement.  Penrod  was  his  chief 
backer  in  the  former,  as  he  was  his  chief  promoter 
in  the  ecclesiastical  campaign.  Stebbing  definitely 
cut  himself  off  from  any  possible  personal  connec- 
tion with  the  forthcoming  Episcopal  election.  He 
came  out  boldly  over  his  own  signature  and  ex- 
pressed his  opinion  that  those  who  sought  to  elect 
him  to  the  Episcopate  were  mistaken  and  radically 
wrong.  He  explained,  with  a  frankness  as  sur- 
prising as  it  was  unusual,  the  lack  of  qualities  he 
possessed  for  such  an  office,  and  he  stated  that  he 
intended  to  support  Barmore,  whose  campaign  had 
also  been  exploited  in  the  newspapers. 

It  was  well  known,  of  course,  that  Barmore  was 


i68          THE   BETTER  MAN 

the  candidate  of  General  Wharton  and  those 
whom  he  represented.  The  fact  that  the  engage- 
ment which  had  been  announced  had  been  contra- 
dicted had  caused  some  comment,  but  in  the  greater 
issues  involved  nobody  gave  it  much  consideration. 
Barmore,  too,  was  looked  upon  as  representing  the 
employers'  side  in  the  Traction  issue.  Penrod 
and  Stebbing  thus  found  themselves  arrayed 
against  General  Wharton  and  Barmore  as  com- 
pletely as  was  possible  on  every  matter  that  was 
pending  between  them. 

The  publicity  which  had  been  given  to  the  Epis- 
copal election  was  as  distressing  as  it  was  unusual. 
None  of  the  parties  concerned  had  in  the  least  de- 
gree desired  it.  It  was  uncanonical  and  improper. 
This  publicity  was  entirely  due  to  Penrod.  In 
spite  of  all  that  Stebbing  had  said  and  done,  the 
big  mechanic  had  come  out  boldly  in  a  series  of 
well-written  articles,  which  the  papers,  especially 
of  the  sensational  kind,  were  only  too  eager  to 
print,  and  in  which  he  had  set  forth  reasons  why 
the  leadership  of  the  great  metropolitan  see  should 
fall  upon  Stebbing.  The  episode  by  the  Bishop's 


MARK  STEBBING  PLEADS  169 

bedside  had  been  made  much  of,  and  nothing  Steb- 
bing  could  do,  or  any  of  the  disclaimers  he  could 
put  forth,  could  stem  a  certain  tide  which  seemed 
to  be  setting  toward  him. 

The  papers,  interested  and  amused  at  being  par- 
ties to  an  ecclesiastical  contest,  devoted  much  space 
to  it.  Stebbing  was  interviewed  and  photographed 
and  written  up  until  he  was  almost  driven  crazy. 
St.  Osmund's  was  crowded  to  the  doors  every  Sun- 
day. The  more  the  man  denied  and  protested, 
the  more  publicity  attended  him.  He  finally  ig- 
nored the  whole  matter.  He  did  not  for  a  mo- 
ment believe  that  he  could  be  elected ;  such  a  plain 
declaration  of  his  qualities  as  he  had  made  should 
have  been  fatal  to  his  chances.  He  did  not  want 
to  be  Bishop.  He  was  entirely  honest  in  his 
declaration  of  his  unfitness  for  that  office.  The 
devil  of  ambition  had  no  power  over  him  what- 
ever. The  threatening  strike  was  a  matter  of 
vastly  more  importance  to  him  than  the  other  af- 
fair. He  took  his  position  as  to  that  boldly. 

He  had  been,  like  others,  amazed  at  the  break- 
ing of  the  engagement  between  Barmore  and  Mar- 


170          THE   BETTER   MAN 

garet,  but  he  had  never  dared  to  go  and  see  the 
woman  he  loved  and  ask  any  explanation.  He 
had  been  unable  to  fathom  the  reasons  for  the 
course  she  had  pursued.  He  was  not  vain  enough 
to  think  that  it  might  have  been  on  his  account. 
He  still  considered  himself  disgraced.  Indeed, 
one  of  the  reasons,  quixotic  as  it  may  seem,  why 
he  was  confident  of  his  own  unworthiness  for  the 
Episcopate  was  the  breach  of  courtesy  he  had  com- 
mitted in  her  library,  and  only  the  saving  sense 
of  humor  kept  him  from  making  a  clean  breast 
of  that  extraordinary  affair  to  the  public.  He 
realized  that  no  one  would  understand  his  con- 
fession. That  even  for  a  clergyman  to  kiss  a 
pretty  girl  against  her  will  would  not  be  thought 
a  heinous  offense,  and  that  he  probably  would  be 
laughed  at,  with  her  as  well,  which  was  not  to 
be  thought  of.  The  only  thing  left  him  was  to 
keep  a  grim  silence  and  go  doggedly  on. 

He  himself  advocated  the  election  of  Barmore. 
He  did  not  love  Barmore  as  he  had.  He  was 
a  man  as  well  as  a  priest,  and  the  recollection  of 
that  blow  rankled.  He  deserved  it,  of  course, 


MARK  STEBBING   PLEADS  171 

but  we  do  not  always  admit  that  the  punishment 
we  receive  is  merited,  and  if  we  do  admit  it,  we 
do  not  therefore  enjoy  it.  Feeling  that  Barmore 
would  be  the  best  available  Bishop,  he  conscien- 
tiously supported  him.  He  would  have  done  so 
had  he  hated  him.  Indeed,  sometimes  he  did  al- 
most hate  the  man,  especially  at  the  thought  of 
him  as  the  probable  husband  of  Miss  Wharton; 
for  he  had  a  strange  feeling  that  there  was  some- 
thing beneath  the  breaking  of  the  engagement 
which  was  not  apparent,  and  that  in  the  end  it 
would  be  renewed.  Barmore,  always  fortunate, 
was  to  have  everything — Bishopric  and  wife. 
Well,  he  deserved  all.  Stebbing  deserved  nothing. 
The  days  had  passed  for  Margaret  Wharton  in 
a  turmoil  of  wretchedness.  In  spite  of  all  that 
she  had  said,  she  still  felt  that  she  was  bound  to 
Barmore.  The  clergyman  was  more  often  at  the 
house  than  ever.  He  carried  on  his  wooing  with 
an  ardor  which  not  even  his  own  exquisite  and 
delicate  tact  could  hide.  He  never  presumed  on 
the  former  relationship,  but  it  was  never  absent 
from  his  mind,  and  the  hope  that  was  in  his  breast 


172          THE   BETTER   MAN 

was  easily  apparent.  Against  the  development  of 
that  hope  Margaret  Wharton  struggled  with 
growing  desperation. 

Of  course,  she  took  a  deep  interest  in  the  forth- 
coming election,  and  a  scarcely  less  deep  interest 
in  the  difficulties  of  the  Traction  Company,  for 
her  father,  her  Rector,  and  her  enemy,  she  would 
have  said,  for  so  she  forced  herself  to  regard 
Stebbing,  were  all  intensely  concerned.  She  found 
herself  in  a  curious  state  of  indecision  as  to  what 
she  really  thought.  Her  father  had  explained 
matters  to  her  again  and  again,  and  her  sympathy 
should  have  been  with  him,  yet  Stebbing's  clear 
presentation  of  the  facts,  which  she  had  read  in 
the  paper,  met  with  much  greater  response  from 
her. 

In  the  election  her  sympathies,  again,  should 
naturally  have  been  with  her  father  and  with  Bar- 
more,  but  Stebbing's  personality,  even  his  abso- 
lute and  vigorous  denial  of  any  regret  for  what  he 
had  done,  strangely  moved  her.  Was  it  her  heart 
or  her  reason  which  governed  her? 

She  withdrew  herself  from  society  during  these 


MARK  STEBBING  PLEADS  173 

two  months  under  the  plea  of  indisposition.  She 
took  little  journeys  to  nearby  cities,  she  visited 
old  friends  quietly,  she  sought  to  get  away  from 
her  trouble,  forgetful  of  the  fact  that  she  carried 
it  in  her  own  breast. 

The  virus  of  ambition  had  attacked  Barmore. 
It  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  three  things  for 
which  to  strive — one  was  the  election,  the  second 
was  to  crush  and  defeat  Stebbing,  whose  action  he 
had  not  condoned,  and  the  third  was  to  win  for 
his  wife  the  woman  he  loved.  He  had  been  at 
first,  as  he  had  said,  more  or  less  indifferent  to  the 
Episcopate,  but  he  had  not  reflected  upon  the  mat- 
ter more  than  one  day  before  these  considerations 
rose  in  his  mind.  It  was  undignified,  certainly 
improper  and  unchurchly,  but  he  could  not  help  it. 

There  was  a  tinge  of  worldliness  in  the  man, 
and  he  craved  the  election  as  he  had  never  craved 
anything  in  his  life.  Never  before  had  so  much 
turned  upon  success.  His  ambition  to  fill  the  high 
position  might  have  been  considered  laudable,  but 
when  coupled  with  a  struggle  for  the  woman  he 
loved  and  an  attempt  to  crush  the  man  he  hated, 


174          THE  BETTER  MAN 

his  desires  could  scarcely  be  justified  even  by  him- 
self. He  was  at  heart  a  good  man,  but  the  devil 
had  got  hold  of  him,  and  was  using  him  for  his 
purpose. 

Barmore  was  a  man  of  great  personal  force, 
tact,  acumen,  and  intelligence  for  his  years  and 
experience.  General  Wharton  speedily  discovered 
these  qualities,  and  often  consulted  freely  with  him 
as  to  the  possibilities  of  the  campaign.  Neither 
gentleman  resorted  to  methods  famous  in  politics, 
but  every  proper  influence  that  could  be  brought 
to  bear  was  employed  in  behalf  of  Barmore,  every 
move  carefully  planned.  The  laboring  faction 
and  the  younger  clergy  did  not  plan  with  such 
finesse,  but  there  was  something  formidable  in  the 
determination  of  Penrod  and  the  enthusiasm  he 
was  able  to  arouse  in  his  or  Stebbing's  followers. 

Episcopal  elections  are  supposed  to  be  decided 
by  the  action  of  the  Holy  Spirit.  It  did  not 
seem  to  the  unthinking  general  public  that  He  was 
a  present  factor,  although  there  were  many  quiet 
prayers  made  by  people  of  high  and  low  degree 
that  He  might  make  the  right  decision.  The 


MARK  STEBBING  PLEADS  175 

men  who  planned  the  campaign  apparently  left 
God  out  of  their  reckoning.  It  was  to  Stebbing 
that  this  thought  came,  and  because  he  believed 
that  an  overruling  Providence  would  determine 
the  issue,  and  that  a  wise  Providence  would  not 
select  him,  he  became  the  more  calm  and  in  a 
manner  indifferent  as  the  battle  raged. 

So  the  days  went  on.  Three  days  before  the 
convention,  the  threatened  strike  came  to  a  head. 
That  was  a  Saturday  morning,  and  the  convention 
was  called  for  the  following  Tuesday.  In  one 
final  endeavor  to  settle  the  matter,  Stebbing  put 
his  pride  in  his  pocket  and  determined  to  call  upon 
General  Wharton.  He  knew  very  well  the  tem- 
per of  the  General,  how  difficult  it  was  under 
ordinary  circumstances  to  get  a  concession  from 
him,  and  how  almost  impossible  it  would  be  to 
get  one  under  present  conditions.  The  General 
had  always  treated  the  men  fairly,  as  men  were 
treated,  and  when  the  grievances  of  the  men  had 
been  brought  about  by  changed  conditions,  which 
the  General  refused  to  recognize,  now  that  they 
had  resulted  in  the  present  exorbitant  and  im- 


176          THE   BETTER   MAN 

possible  demands,  he  would  concede  nothing, 
absolutely  nothing.  It  was  to  be  a  fight  to  a 
finish. 

Yet  Stebbing  felt  impelled  to  make  an  attempt 
in  spite  of  its  apparent  hopelessness. 

He  was  not  a  very  tactful  man,  and  was  not 
in  good  favor  with  the  General,  and  he  realized 
that,  unless  he  could  bring  some  influence  to  bear 
upon  him,  his  attempts  would  be  futile,  and  that 
he  would  probably  be  subjected  to  a  great  many 
humiliations  at  the  old  man's  hands.  This  would 
not  greatly  trouble  him.  He  was  as  indifferent 
to  the  effect  upon  people  of  his  ordinary  actions 
or  even  his  extraordinary  ones,  as  any  man  on 
earth.  It  was  only  the  consciousness  of  an  act 
like  that  he  had  put  upon  Miss  Wharton  that 
troubled  him.  He  had  no  care  for  himself  or 
his  own  feelings  with  regard  to  the  General.  Al- 
though he  was  a  man  of  quick  temper,  he  usually 
had  it  under  admirable  control,  and  he  did  not 
intend  to  let  anything  the  General  might  say 
trouble  him.  He  wanted  to  win,  but  he  wanted 
to  win  for  the  sake  of  the  men,  for  the  sake  of 


MARK   STEBBING   PLEADS  177 

the  community,  and  for  no  other  reason.  He 
lived  among  the  men,  and  he  knew  what  their  tem- 
per was.  He  knew,  unless  the  difficulty  were 
settled,  that  there  would  be  trouble  of  the  gravest 
kind. 

If  there  was  any  way  on  earth  by  which  Steb- 
bing  could  move  General  Wharton,  to  whom  as 
president  of  the  company  the  management  and 
the  settlement  of  the  whole  affair  was  committed, 
he  very  much  wanted  to  avail  himself  of  it.  He 
had  reflected  upon  the  situation  deeply,  and  as  the 
conditions  became  more  and  more  strained,  the 
only  people  he  could  think  of  who  would  be  likely 
to  influence  General  Wharton  were  the  two  with 
whom  Stebbing  was  not  on  speaking  terms,  for 
one  of  them  he  had  insulted,  and  the  other  had 
insulted  him.  He  would  rather  have  died  than 
to  have  gone  to  either  of  them ;  but  he  nevertheless 
determined  to  call  upon  both  of  them  before  he 
saw  the  General.  It  was  the  only  thing  he  could 
do. 

To  which  one  to  first  appeal  had  been  a  problem. 
He  finally  decided  upon  Miss  Wharton  for  two 


178          THE  BETTER  MAN 

reasons.  He  was  by  no  means  certain  that  either 
the  man  or  the  woman  would  see  him ;  he  thought, 
however,  that  his  chances  were  better  with  Miss 
Wharton.  He  had  insulted  her,  and  she  would 
find  it  more  easy  to  forgive  him  than  Barmore, 
who  had  insulted  him.  The  second  reason  was 
that  he  believed  that  she  would  have  more  influence 
with  her  father  than  the  clergyman,  and  the  fact 
that  he  and  Barmore  were  opponents  in  the  com- 
ing election  increased  his  reluctance  to  go  to  him. 
He  would  not  have  approached  either  of  them, 
except  as  a  last  resort.  When  he  had  spoken 
with  these  two,  he  would  see  General  Wharton 
himself,  if  it  were  thought  best,  but  he  would  wait 
for  that  interview  until  after  that  with  one  or 
both  of  those  to  whom  he  would  appeal  directly. 
Stebbing  was  a  proud  man.  It  was  terribly 
hard  for  him  to  walk  up  the  steps  of  the  Wharton 
residence  and  ring  the  bell.  It  had  been  hard 
enough  when  he  had  thought  about  it  in  his  study, 
harder  when  he  had  started  uptown,  even  harder 
still  as  he  stood  at  the  door  and  waited  for  an 
answer  to  his  summons;  but  the  hardest  moment 


MARK  STEBBING  PLEADS  179 

of  all  was  when  he  stood  within  the  hall  as  the 
servant  took  to  Miss  Wharton,  who  he  had  heard 
with  mingled  emotions  was  in,  the  little  note  he 
had  prepared,  which  he  thought  would  be  more 
efficacious  in  gaining  him  access  to  her  than  a  card 
or  any  verbal  message  which  he  might  send. 

He  couldn't  be  sure  as  to  whether  she  would 
read  the  note  or  not.  He  felt  that  it  was  more 
than  likely,  however.  He  was  certain  that  she 
would,  at  least,  open  the  note,  because  he  did  not 
remember  ever  to  have  written  to  her  before,  and 
she  therefore  would  not  be  familiar  with  his  writ- 
ing. He  had  not  given  his  name,  and  the  maid 
who  admitted  him  had  never  seen  him  before; 
there  would  be  no  reason  which  would  prevent 
Miss  Wharton  from  at  least  opening  the  note. 
When  she  opened  it,  he  believed  she  would  cer- 
tainly read  it:  having  read  it,  what  then?  Would 
she  receive  him  ? 

His  speculations  were  interrupted  in  a  very  satis- 
factory way,  for  the  maid  returning  asked  him  to 
step  into  the  library,  saying  that  Miss  Wharton 
would  be  down  in  a  few  minutes. 


i8o          THE   BETTER   MAN 

That  young  lady  had  received  the  note  with  a 
certain  languid  indifference.  She  did  not  recog- 
nize the  writing;  she,  therefore,  opened  the  en- 
velope carelessly,  without  the  least  preparation  for 
the  shock  it  gave  her  when  her  eye  fell  upon  the 
signature.  Her  first  thought  was  that  the  writing 
was  like  him — bold,  free,  flowing,  emphatic,  and 
that  she  should  have  known  it  by  instinct.  She 
stared  at  the  signature  for  a  moment  without  mak- 
ing an  attempt  to  master  the  contents.  She  was 
speculating  as  to  what  he  wanted  with  her,  although 
the  solution  of  her  considerations  was  in  her  hand, 
she  did  not  look  at  it  in  her  dreams,  as  it 
were. 

Her  heart  had  given  a  great  leap,  her  cheeks 
had  been  suffused  with  color.  It  seemed  as  if 
the  moment  for  which  she  had  been  waiting  ever 
since  he  had  placed  his  brand  upon  her  by  kissing 
her  on  that  never  to  be  forgotten  day,  was  sud- 
denly glowing  into  life.  She  found  the  maid  star- 
ing at  her  in  a  curious  way,  and  that  brought  her 
back  to  herself  again.  She  forced  herself  to  read 
the  note;  it  was  brief: 


MARK   STEBBING   PLEADS  181 

"  DEAR  Miss  WHARTON: 

"  Will  you  put  aside  your  natural  and  justifiable 
condemnation  of  me  and  see  me  for  a  few  minutes 
on  a  matter  which  you  can  well  surmise  must  be 
of  the  utmost  importance,  else  I  would  never  had 
presumed  to  approach  you? 

"  Yours  truly, 

"  MARK  STEBBING." 

Her  first  impulse  was  to  tell  the  servant  to  tell 
him  that  she  refused  to  see  him.  Her  pride  re- 
volted against  the  presence  of  the  man.  How 
dare  he,  after  what  had  passed,  thrust  his  presence 
upon  her?  What  was  there  that  he  could  pos- 
sibly say  in  justification  of  himself?  It  never 
occurred  to  her  for  a  second  that  his  visit  was  any- 
thing but  personal.  Her  lips  opened  to  bid  him 
be  gone,  but  the  words  were  not  uttered.  She 
could  not  utter  them.  She  wanted  to  see  the  man 
so  much.  She  admitted  that  with  shame,  but  she 
would  not  deny  the  fact.  In  a  certain  sense  she 
was  pledged  to  Barmore.  She  expected  and  in- 
tended to  be  his  wife,  and  yet  the  thought  of  that 


182          THE  BETTER  MAN 

one  kiss,  rough  though  it  was,  had  aroused 
in  her  more  powerful  feelings  than  all  the 
lover-like  and  delicate  attentions  of  the  other 
man. 

She  felt  that  she  ought  to  dismiss  Stebbing  sum- 
marily, but  she  could  not.  Curiosity  assisted  her 
to  this  decision.  Was  he  going  to  justify  him- 
self and  his  action?  Was  there  anything  that 
could  be  said  in  his  behalf,  and  if  so,  ought  she 
not  to  hear  it?  Ought  she  to  condemn  a  man 
unheard?  With  such  speculations  in  her  mind 
she  told  the  maid  to  show  Mr.  Stebbing  into  the 
library,  and  to  say  that  she  would  be  down  in  a 
few  minutes. 

She  could  have  gone  down  immediately,  for  she 
was  properly  attired  to  receive  visitors  that  morn- 
ing, but  the  instant  the  maid  left  the  room  she 
stepped  to  her  mirror  and  stared  at  herself.  She 
was  ashamed  of  herself  as  she  did  so,  yet  she  did 
it.  Her  delicate  hands  hovered  over  her  hair,  her 
dress.  A  light  touch  here  and  there  seemed  to 
make  things  more  satisfactory,  although  no  change 
whatever  would  have  been  apparent,  even  to  the 


Her  delicate  hands  hovered  over  her  hair, 
her  dress 


MARK  STEBBING  PLEADS  183 

critical  observer,  had  there  been  one  present.  She 
knew  that  she  had  never  looked  more  charming 
in  her  life.  Of  late  she  had  not  appeared  at 
her  best ;  she  had  been  pale,  listless,  and  indifferent. 
Now  color  tinged  her  cheeks,  light  sparkled  in 
her  eye,  she  was  satisfied  with  herself,  although 
exactly  why  she  took  such  interest  in  her 
appearance  she  would  not  even  admit  to 
herself. 

The  library  was  not  a  particularly  well-lighted 
room.  The  morning  was  gray  and  somber,  but 
when  she  appeared  at  the  door  and  entered  the 
long,  stately  apartment,  she  produced  an  effect 
upon  Stebbing  like  sunshine.  She  carefully  closed 
the  door  behind  her  and  stood  for  a  moment  look- 
ing at  the  man.  Her  face  was  toward  the  light; 
Stebbing's  back  was  turned  to  the  window.  He 
had  a  good  view  of  her,  and  she  had  an  indifferent 
view  of  him.  She  stood  quite  silent,  very  erect, 
her  mouth  somewhat  tightly  compressed.  Steb- 
bing's first  consciousness  was  of  her  surpassing 
loveliness.  His  next  was  a  sweet  remembrance 
that  he  had  kissed  her,  that  he  had  held  that  ex- 


184          THE   BETTER   MAN 

quisite  and  noble  figure  in  his  arms.  It  was  to 
his  shame,  but  as  always  there  was  a  certain-  fierce 
joy  in  that  recollection. 

The  woman  possessed  him.  She  went  to  his 
head  like  wine.  He  made  a  step  or  two  toward 
her.  She  stood  as  quiet  as  Daniel  might  have  done 
in  the  lions'  den,  wonderjng,  half  in  fear,  half  in 
hope,  what  he  was  about  to  do.  Did  he  intend 
to  seize  her  in  his  arms  and  kiss  her  again?  It 
was  the  man  who  recovered  himself  first  and 
looked  away. 

"Are  you  ashamed  to  meet  my  glance,  Mr. 
Stebbing?"  she  began  as  the  silence  lengthened 
and  grew  unbearable. 

"I  will  be  honest  with  you,  Miss  Wharton. 
No,  I  am  not  ashamed.  I  ought  to  be,  God  help 
me!  But  when  I  see  you  standing  there  in  all 
your  loveliness  and  all  your  nobility,  I  think 
first " 

"  Do  not  dare,"  cried  the  woman,  "  to  add  to 
your  insult,  which  I  am  trying  to  forget,  by  re- 
calling it  to  my  memory,  unless  you  come  to  entreat 
my  forgiveness." 


MARK   STEBBING   PLEADS  185 

Stebbing  was  as  stubborn  as  his  name,  and  mer- 
cilessly honest. 

"  I  can  entreat  your  forgiveness  for  my  action, 
but  I  cannot  say  that  I  regret  it.  I  was  a  brute, 
and  a  thief,  if  you  will,"  he  pressed  his  hand  to 
his  breast,  "  but  there  is  something  here  in  spite 
of  me  that  makes  me  cherish  the  memory." 

"  I  will  hear  no  more,"  said  the  woman  im- 
petuously. 

Was  she  fighting  Stebbing,  or  her  own  heart,  she 
wondered  dumbly. 

•"  The  blow  I  received  upon  the  lips  here  was 
nothing;  I  would  gladly  die  if  I  might  do  it 
again,"  he  persisted. 

"  Oh !  oh !  "  began  the  woman  in  a  low,  pained 
whisper;  "you  don't  know  what  you  are  saying. 
I  must  go.  I  cannot  bear  this;  it  is  cruel." 

He  was  all  contrition  in  a  moment. 

"God  forgive  me!"  he  cried;  "I  did  not 
come  here  to  talk  to  you  about  myself  or  your- 
self." 

Was  it  disappointment  that  she  experienced  at 
these  words,  she  wondered? 


!86          THE  BETTER  MAN 

"You  said  that  you  had  something  of  great 
importance  to  say  to  me." 

"  Yes,  but  it  does  not  concern  either  of  us  in 
the  way  you  suggest.  No,  don't  go,"  he  added 
as  she  made  a  movement  to  withdraw.  "It  is 
probably  the  last  time  in  my  life  that  I  shall  ever 
speak  to  you." 

"Why  that?"  burst  from  the  woman  in  spite 
of  herself. 

"  Because  I  can't  stand  it.  I  am  a  priest  of 
the  Church,  and  one  of  its  ministers,  weak  and 
feeble  though  I  may  be.  I  have  work  to  do  in 
this  world,  and  I  cannot  do  it  under  present  con- 
ditions. I  must  either  have  you  for  my  own,  or 
I  must  give  you  up.  I  cannot  give  you  up  if  I 
see  you.  I  ought  not  to  have  come  here  to-day; 
I  ought  not  to  be  in  your  presence;  I  ought  not 
to  say  what  I  am  saying,  but  I  cannot  help  it." 
A  few  swift  steps  brought  him  to  her  side.  "  You 
will  dismiss  me  when  I  tell  you  that  I  am  trembling 
to  take  you  in  my  arms,  to  crush  you  against  my 
breast,  to  kiss  you  once  more,  that  my  whole  being 
cries  out  for  you,  that  I  want  you  for  my  wife, 


MARK   STEBBING   PLEADS  187 

that  I — No,  don't  shrink  back  from  me.  I  won't 
hurt  you.  I  think  I  have  got  control  of  myself 
now.  Sit  down  over  there,  and  I  will  stand  here 
and  say  what  I  have  to  say  and  be  gone." 

Mechanically  she  sat  down  in  the  chair  pointed 
out  to  her.  She  felt  that  if  he  had  suited  his 
action  to  his  words  again  she  would  have  been 
helpless  as  before.  The  chair  he  had  pointed  out 
to  her  was  a  low  one,  meant  for  ease  and  comfort, 
entirely  unsuited  to  her  present  needs.  She  sat 
leaning  forward  in  an  attitude  of  strained  atten- 
tion. Without  considering  it  he  had  chosen  his 
position  by  the  big  desk.  He  leaned  across  the 
top  of  it  with  his  powerful  arm  and  clenched  hand 
lying  on  it,  extended  in  her  direction.  By  terrific 
effort  at  control  he  managed  to  speak  as  calmly 
as  if  he  had  forgotten  all  that  had  passed  before. 

"  I  came  to  see  you,"  he  said  at  last,  "  about  the 
threatened  strike  of  the  Traction  Company's  em- 
ployees." 

"  And  what  have  I  to  do  with  that?  " 

"  That  is  a  statement  that  is  made  everywhere. 
As  a  citizen  of  this  great  metropolis,  you  have  a 


i88          THE   BETTER   MAN 

direct  interest  in  everything  that  concerns  its  wel- 
fare, or  the  welfare  of  the  humblest  as  well  as 
the  highest  one  of  our  citizens.  Our  Gospel 
doesn't  amount  to  much  unless  it  touches  all  of  us. 
Adam's  question  to  God,  *  Am  I  my  brother's 
keeper?  '  has  been  answered  by  the  world  without 
waiting  for  the  Divine  reply.  Everyone  for  him- 
self, and  no  one  has  any  responsibility  for  the 
others." 

He  spoke  bitterly.  He  was  quoting  from  a 
recent  sermon — a  habit  of  preachers. 

She  commented  upon  his  remarks,  thoughtlessly. 
"  You     said     that     last     Sunday     morning, 

didn't " 

"Were  you  there?  "  asked  the  man  in  amaze- 
ment. 

"  I  might  have  read  it  in  the  report  of  the  morn- 
ing papers,"  interposed  the  woman  evasively, 
deftly  striving  to  cover  up  her  blunder. 

"  I  asked  you,"  he  said,  "  if  you  were  at  St. 
Osmund's  when  I  preached  last  Sunday  morn- 
ing?" 

"  Yes,  I  was." 


MARK  STEBBING  PLEADS  189 

"And  why?" 

"  Mr.  Stebbing,"  returned  the  woman,  "  I  did 
not  admit  you  to  this  interview  that  I  might  be 
subjected  to  catechizing.  You  deserve  nothing 
whatever  at  my  hands.  You  have  grossly  insulted 
me  and  have  this  morning  added  to  the  insult  by 
glorying  in  your  action.  You  have  wanted,  if  I 
may  judge  from  your  words  and  actions,  to  do  it 
again.  I  should  be  warranted  in  ending  the  in- 
terview without  further  delay,  and  I  should  do  so, 
were  it  not  that  you  have  just  indicated  that  what 
you  have  to  say,  tardy  though  you  are  in  arriving 
at  it,  concerns  my  father's  employees.  Now,  I 
decline  positively  either  to  submit  to  any  question- 
ing or  to  give  you  any  further  audience  unless  you 
come  to  the  point  at  once." 

"  I  suppose,"  he  said  with  his  usual  bluntness, 
"  that  you  are  afraid  to  discuss  some  things  with 
me,  and " 

"  Sir,"  cried  Miss  Wharton,  thoroughly  out- 
raged, "  I  have  had  one  lesson  from  you.  I  was 
foolish  to  disregard  it.  I  must  request  you  to 
leave  me  at  once." 


i9o          THE  BETTER  MAN 

She  rose  to  her  feet  as  she  spoke  and  extended 
her  hand  toward  the  bell. 

"What!"  said  the  man;  "I  will  say  nothing 
further  to  offend  you.  Have  some  mercy;  you 
understand  that  I  cannot  help  myself.  When  I 
see  you  so  royal,  so  noble,  so  beautiful " 

"  Is  that  the  way  you  keep  the  promise  made  a 
moment  before  ?  " 

Stebbing  stared  at  her  in  dismay. 

"  Miss  Wharton,"  he  began,  "  I  came  here  to 
ask  you  if  you  would  not  interest  yourself  in  the 
claims  of  your  father's  employees." 

,  "  General  Wharton  says  that  those  claims  are 
preposterous ;  that  to  grant  them  would  amount  to 
turning  the  control  of  the  property  over  to  the 
men ;  that  the  financial  burden  would  ruin  the  prop- 
erty, and " 

"  General  Wharton  is  entirely  correct  in  his 
statement." 

"  And  do  you,  therefore,  ask  me  to  use  my  in- 
fluence to  get  my  father  to  do  that  which  would 
not  only  be  ruinous,  but  improper  ?  " 

"  By  no  means." 


MARK  STEBBING  PLEADS  191 

"What,  then?" 

"  The  original  demands  of  the  men  for  certain 
improvements  in  the  machinery,  for  vestibules  in 
the  winter,  for  a  slight  shortening  of  hours,  an 
equalizing  increase  in  pay,  and  for  arranging  for 
every  other  Sunday  off,  and  a  weekly  half-holiday 
in  the  summer  with  pay — these  are  just,  or,  at 
least,  they  are  arguable." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  woman,  "  that  may  be  granted, 
but  they  have  increased  their  demands  beyond  all 
reason." 

"  I  frankly  admit  that,"  said  Stebbing,  "  and 
I  am  not  here  to  advocate  those  later  demands ;  but 
if  I  could  go  to  the  men  with  a  statement  that 
the  original  demands  would  be  arbitrated  fairly 
on  terms  to  be  agreed  upon,  provided  they  aban- 
doned the  later  requests,  I  am  sure  I  could  per- 
suade the  men  to  accept  the  concession,  and  any 
further  trouble  would  be  averted." 

"And  you  want  me  to  say  that  to  my 
father?  " 

"  I  intend  to  say  it  myself." 

"  What,  then,  do  you  ask  of  me  ?  " 


i92          THE  BETTER  MAN 

"  I  want  you  to  use  your  influence  with  your 
father  to  get  him  to  do  this." 

"  You  think  you  can  persuade  the  men  to  accept 
such  a  settlement  ?  " 

"  I  think  so,  with  Mr.  Penrod's  assistance." 

"Mr.  Penrod!" 

"  Yes,  he  is  very  influential  in  the  labor  world, 
and  is  doing  his  best  to  reason  with  the  men." 

"  Is  he  not  your  principal  supporter  for 
Bishop?" 

"  Miss  Wharton,"  said  Stebbing,  "  I  beg  you  to 
believe  that  I  am  in  no  sense  a  candidate  for  the 
office  of  Bishop.  I  have  repeatedly  declared  in 
private,  and  once  at  least  have  set  forth  my  views 
in  the  public  press,  that  I  do  not  desire  the  office, 
that  I  do  not  consider  myself  a  proper  person  to 
be  made  Bishop,  that  I  must  not  be  elected.  You 
will,  at  least,  believe  that  I  am  honest?" 

"  I  believe  that." 

"  And  you  know  of  one  reason  why  I  consider 
myself  unfit  for  the  office." 

"What  reason?" 

"  My  utter  failure  to  control  myself  with  you, 


MARK   STEBBING   PLEADS  193 

and  the  fact  that  I — that  when  you  are  near  me, 
I  forget  everything  but  that  you  are  near  me,  and 
that  I  love  you,  that " 

"  And  you  are  honest  in  your  advocacy  of  Mr. 
Barmore?  "  she  interrupted. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Stebbing,  "  it  is  part  of  my 
punishment.  I  saw  that  your  engagement  was 
broken.  Why?" 

"  It  does  not  concern  you,  Mr.  Stebbing." 

"  No,  but  I  want  to  know." 

"  I  have  heard  it  said,"  answered  the  woman 
quietly,  "  that  you  might  be  elected  Bishop.  Per- 
haps it  would  be  better  for  you  to  learn  the  lesson 
of  self-control  now.  I  shall  not  tell  you  why  my 
engagement  with  Mr.  Barmore  is  broken." 

"  Will  you  tell  me  anything  about  it?  " 

"  I  cannot  see  that  you  have  any  right  to  ask 
anything  about  it,  but  I  cannot  say  whether  I  will 
or  will  not  until  you  have  asked." 

"  Was  it  because  you  found  you  did  not  love 
Barmore?" 

The  woman  stared  at  him  without  moving  an 
eyelash. 


i94          THE  BETTER  MAN 

"Was  it  because  it  would  not  look  well  for 
General  Wharton  to  be  supporting  his  prospective 
son-in-law?  Do  you  intend  to  marry  him  when 
he  is  elected?" 

"  And  suppose  I  say  yes  to  that  last,"  answered 
the  woman,  "  would  you  still  vote  for  him?  " 

Stebbing  turned  very  pale.  The  interview  had 
tried  him  beyond  measure. 

"Yes,"  he  answered  finally,  "I  should.  I 
should  vote  for  him  not  to  give  him  to  you, 
or  you  to  him,  but  because  I  think  he  is  the 
best  man  for  the  office — the  best  we  could  get, 
that  is." 

"  Mr.  Stebbing,"  said  the  woman,  "  your  hon- 
esty saves  you.  It  makes  me  overlook  the  fright- 
ful impertinence  of  your  questions.  You  are  right. 
You  ought  not  to  be  Bishop,  and  I  do  not  think 
you  will  be;  at  least,  I  hope  not." 

"  Is  that  your  wish  for  Mr.  Barmore?  " 

"  That  has  nothing  to  do  with  it ;  but  we  are 
straying  from  the  point.  You  ask  me  to  use  my 
influence  with  my  father  in  behalf  of  the  men,  as 
you  suggest.  I  shall  do  it,  but  I  think  it  only 


MARK  STEBBING  PLEADS  195 

fair  to  tell  you  that  I  have  very  little  hope  of  mov- 
ing him  in  the  least  degree." 

"  Your  influence  may  be  greater  than  you 
imagine,  but  I  am  not  calling  upon  you  alone." 

"Who  else?" 

"  I  am  going  to  see  Barmore  and  the  General 
himself." 

The  woman  shook  her  head. 

"  I  shouldn't  advise  that  last,"  she  said. 

"Why  not?" 

"  Well,  you  see  the  General  has  learned  of  that 
— that — episode  for  which  you  are  not — sorry." 

"  He  knows  that  I  kissed  you?  "  exclaimed  Steb- 
bing  bluntly. 

The  woman  nodded.     Her  face  crimsoned. 

"Who  told  him?     Did  you?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"Did  Barmore?" 

"  I  only  know  that  he  knows." 

"  It  is  the  more  necessary  that  I  should  see  him 
at  once."  He  rose  as  he  spoke.  "  Miss  Whar- 
ton,  I  have  the  misfortune  of  always  appearing 
before  you  in  a  bad  light.  I  have  affronted  and 


i96  THE  BETTER  MAN 
insulted  you  every  time  I  have  been  privileged  to 
be  in  your  presence.  I  seem  to  lose  my  bearings 
when  I  come  where  you  are.  I  shall  keep  away 
in  the  future.  There  is  one  thing  that  I  must 
say,  that  I  beg  you  to  permit  me  to  say,  since  it  is 
the  last  time." 

The  woman  read  the  look  of  intensity  in  his 
face. 

"  Say  on,"  she  whispered. 

"  However  rudely  I  may  have  appeared,  how- 
ever roughly  I  may  have  treated  you,  however 
bluntly  I  may  express  myself,  I  want  you  to  be- 
lieve now  and  for  all  time  that  I  love  you,  that  I 
always  have  loved  you.  I  do  not  seem  to  belong 
to  your  class  or  kind.  I  cannot  turn  pretty 
speeches;  I  don't  want  to;  but  no  man  ever  loved 
woman  in  a  more  devoted,  whole-hearted,  pas- 
sionate way  than  I  love  you.  I  am  never  going 
to  say  this  again.  I  am  not  going  to  see  you  again. 
You  will  marry  Barmore;  we  will  elect  him  as 
Bishop,  and  when  that  is  done,  and  I  can  provide 
for  St.  Osmund's,  I  am  going  away — to  China, 
Alaska — I  don't  care  where.  There  is  work  for 


MARK  STEBBING  PLEADS  197 

me  to  do  somewhere,  and  I  am  going  to  do  it, 
and  trouble  you  no  further." 

What  induced  her  to  say  it,  she  never  knew. 
There  was  something  terribly  earnest  in  the  man's 
remarks.  When  he  had  ended  speaking,  he  turned 
resolutely  away,  as  if  having  completed  what  he 
intended  to  say,  there  was  nothing  more  for  any- 
one else  to  say  or  do. 

"  I — should  be  very  sorry  to  have  you  go  so  far 
away,"  she  faltered. 

He  turned  instantly. 

"  Miss  Wharton,"  he  asked,  "  what  do  you 
mean?" 

"  Go !  "  said  the  woman,  strained  almost  to  the 
breaking  point  herself;  "  go;  don't  you  see?  don't 
you  understand?  " 

But  he  did  not  go.  He  came  toward  her,  he 
put  his  arm  around  her,  but  gently  this  time.  She 
dropped  her  head  on  his  shoulder  and  burst  into 
passionate  tears.  There  was  something  in  her 
attitude  that  appealed  to  the  man,  and  he  found 
himself  stronger  than  he  imagined. 

"  Don't  cry,"  he  said  softly,  "  I  understand  that 


i98          THE   BETTER   MAN 

it  is  only  nervousness.  I  ought  not  to  have  hurt 
you  so." 

He  led  her  gently  to  the  great  chair,  from 
which  she  had  just  risen.  As  she  sank  down  in 
it  he  released  her  and  stood  before  her. 

"  Now,"  he  said  bravely,  "  I  am  sorry.  Sorry 
that  I  kissed  you,  sorry  that  I  troubled  you,  sorry 
for  everything.  You  will  remember  that  after  a 
while,  I  am  sure,  and — good-by." 

He  turned  and  left  her,  her  face  in  her  hands, 
her  heart  in  a  turmoil,  but  with  a  strange  sort  of 
wild  happiness  in  her  soul. 


CHAPTER  VII 

LIONEL  BARMORE  RESPONDS  TO  THE  APPEAL 

IT  required  far  less  time  and  ceremony  to  be  ad- 
mitted into  the  presence  of  Barmore  than  to  get 
access  to  Miss  Wharton.  Barmore  lived  in  the 
rectory,  under  the  care  of  an  elderly  housekeeper, 
whose  husband  acted  as  his  man.  It  was  the 
morning,  and  the  time  Stebbing  called  was  the 
hour  in  which  Barmore  was  at  the  service  of  all 
comers.  Consequently,  without  announcement, 
there  happening  to  be  no  one  else  present,  Bar- 
more's  man  opened  the  door  to  the  study  and 
Stebbing  walked  in.  As  it  happened,  Barmore 
had  been  thinking  of  Stebbing  at  that  very  mo- 
ment. There  were  three  things  which  were  ever 
present,  and  which  were  inextricably  associated  in 
Barmore's  mind.  One  was  the  unsatisfactory  state 
of  his  relations  to  Miss  Wharton,  another  was 
the  unsatisfactory  state  of  his  relations  to  Steb- 
bing, his  chief  competitor,  and  the  third,  his 

chances  of  winning  the  Episcopate. 
199 


200          THE  BETTER  MAN 

Ambition  to  achieve  the  election  had  completely 
possessed  Barmore's  mind.  The  position  was  a 
great  one.  It  was  the  ne  plus  ultra  of  the  possi- 
bilities of  the  Church  to  which  he  belonged.  For 
dignity,  for  influence,  for  power  for  good  and 
the  opportunity  to  make  a  great  name,  for  the 
chance  to  do  great  service  to  the  Church  which 
he  honestly  loved,  there  was  no  position  compara- 
ble to  it. 

To  be  chosen  Bishop  of  such  a  great  metropoli- 
tan see  was  an  ambition  which  any  man  might 
honestly  have  cherished.  The  place  itself  was 
sufficient  to  stimulate  any  imagination,  but  Bar- 
more  could  not  decide  whether  his  desires  were 
disinterested  or  not.  He  had  come  to  feel,  in 
spite  of  what  Miss  Wharton  had  said,  that 
his  winning  her  to  wife  depended  upon  his 
election. 

He  had  an  uneasy  consciousness,  which  was 
based  absolutely  upon  nothing  tangible,  that  one 
reason  why  he  stood  in  the  anomalous  and  in- 
definite position  he  did  with  the  woman  he  loved 
was  because  of  Stebbing's  personality.  He  had 


BARMORE   RESPONDS        201 

never  suggested  such  a  thought  in  the  faintest  way 
to  Margaret  Wharton — he  would  not  allow  him- 
self to  do  that — yet  the  idea  was  ever  present  with 
him.  He  found  himself  hating  Stebbing  with  an 
entirely  unchristian  passion,  so  violent  that  some- 
times he  wondered  how  he  could  possess  it,  and  he 
experienced  the  deepest  concern  over  the  fact  that 
such  a  feeling  lodged  in  his  bosom.  He  reveled 
in  the  most  unchristian  way  in  the  remembrance  of 
the  blow  he  had  struck  Stebbing  in  the  mouth.  He 
wanted  to  strike  him  another  blow  by  depriving 
him  of  the  election,  fancying  that  Stebbing's  feel- 
ing toward  it  was  like  his  own.  He  could  not 
conceive  that  any  man  might  be  thoroughly  honest 
in  his  endeavor  to  put  such  a  thing  entirely  out  of 
his  mind,  that  he  might  conscientiously  believe 
himself  to  be  absolutely  unworthy  of  the 
office. 

There  is  an  assurance  that  comes  from  confi- 
dence, and  another  that  comes  from  conceit.  The 
one  that  comes  from  confidence  is  born  of  a  belief 
by  a  man  in  the  God  that  is  in  him ;  the  other,  the 
one  that  comes  from  conceit,  is  born  of  the  belief 


202          THE   BETTER   MAN 

by  a  man  in  himself  alone.  Both  have  accom- 
plished great  things,  but  it  is  the  work  of  confidence 
that  is  lasting. 

Barmore  could  not  decide  whether  his  feeling 
that  he  ought  to  be  and  should  be  elected  was 
born  of  confidence  or  of  conceit.  It  is  not  given 
always  to  men  to  be  able  to  determine  whether  the 
God  that  sways  them  is  a  real  God  or  only  an 
imitation.  Barmore  could  not  tell,  also,  whether 
he  thought  Stebbing  unworthy  of  the  office  to 
which  he  himself  aspired  because  of  his  inherent 
characteristics  or  because  he  had  kissed  Margaret 
Wharton.  Barmore  was  a  very  miserable  man, 
therefore. 

General  Wharton  constantly  assured  his  candi- 
date that  he  had  nothing  to  fear.  The  two  had 
planned  and  conducted  with  brilliant  finesse  the 
campaign.  Barmore  believed  confidently  that  he 
would  be  elected ;  he  believed  that  he  would  marry 
Margaret  Wharton  eventually,  and  he  also  be- 
lieved that  Stebbing  would  be  properly  punished 
for  his  presumption,  both  in  affronting  the  woman 
and  aspiring  to  the  miter.  But  he  was  not  a 


BARMORE   RESPONDS        203 

happy  man  in  this  belief,  not  in  the  least 
degree. 

His  first  feeling  when  he  recognized  Stebbing 
that  morning  was  one  of  bitter  antagonism.  It 
seemed  to  him  that  here  in  his  presence  was  the 
cause  of  all  his  difficulties — spiritual,  mental  and, 
if  he  had  admitted  it,  moral.  While  Barmore 
had  no  lack  of  confidence,  he  recognized  that  it 
was  just  possible  that  Stebbing  might  be  elected, 
and  it  was  even  possible  that  he  might  marry  Mar- 
garet Wharton;  therefore,  all  his  jealousy  flamed 
out  at  the  sight  of  him.  He  did  not  ask  Steb- 
bing to  take  a  seat — he  had  risen  as  he  heard  the 
door  open,  and  he  had  remained  standing — or  ex- 
tend to  him  any  welcome  whatsoever.  He  only 
stared  at  him,  hardly,  closely,  harshly. 

It  had  been  "  Lionel  "  and  "  Mark  "  in  the  old 
days.  Stebbing  in  his  first  words  indicated  the 
difference. 

"  Mr.  Barmore,"  he  began  formally,  "  you  will 
certainly  understand  that  nothing  but  the  gravest 
necessity  would  force  me  to  intrude  upon  you  under 
any  circumstances." 


204          THE  BETTER  MAN 

"  I  assume  that." 

"  There  is  that  between  us,"  went  on  Stebbing, 
who  did  not  feel  any  too  comfortable  himself  in 
the  situation,  for  he  was  a  man  of  strong  feelings 
and  emotions,  and  he  could  not  forget,  as  he  had 
in  the  presence  of  Margaret  Wharton,  the  blow 
the  other  had  given  him,  which  he  had  not  resented 
— now  that  forbearance  rankled!  "  There  is  that 
between  us,"  he  continued,  "which  should  keep 
us  apart  forever." 

"  That  decision  is  agreeable  to  me,  Mr.  Steb- 
bing." 

"  You  have  struck  me  a  blow " 

"  And  I  would  that  I  had  had  a  dozen  hands 
and  you  a  dozen  mouths,  that  I  might  have  struck 
them  all."  j 

This  was  a  most  inauspicious  beginning,  thought 
Stebbing. 

"  I  resented  it  then,  inwardly,  and  I  do  now," 
he  said. 

"  I  wish  you  had  resented  it  outwardly,"  said 
Barmore. 

He    stepped   swiftly    toward   him,    his   hands 


BARMORE   RESPONDS        205 

trembling,  and,  indeed,  the  man  was  in  deadly 
earnest — he  only  wanted  another  excuse  to  strike 
another  blow.  Stebbing  was  the  cooler. 

"  I  fancy,"  he  said,  as  he  surveyed  his  slighter 
opponent,  "  if  the  debate  had  continued  on  the 
lines  which  you  seem  to  desire,  that  you  would  have 
been  the  loser." 

Barmore's  face  flushed  deeply.  Stebbing  saw 
that,  from  whatsoever  cause,  he  was  near  the  break- 
ing point.  He  also  divined  in  some  sense  the 
reason  for  Barmore's  emotion.  He  had  begun 
to  think  that  perhaps  Margaret  Wharton  cared 
more  for  him,  Mark  Stebbing,  than  he  had 
dreamed  possible.  Perhaps  that  had  something 
to  do  with  the  breaking  of  the  engagement,  and 
maybe  Barmore  knew  what  Stebbing  only  sur- 
mised. Barmore's  ambition  to  be  the  next  Bishop 
was  also  in  the  way  of  being  thwarted  by  Stebbing. 
Naturally,  he  would  feel  bitter  toward  the  latter. 
Stebbing  had  kissed  the  woman  Barmore  loved. 
There  was  no  disguising  that  fact.  Stebbing, 
therefore,  made  allowances.  It  showed  the  mag- 
nanimity of  his  nature  that  he  did  so. 


2o6          THE  BETTER  MAN 

"  Mr.  Barmore,"  he  said  quietly,  "  I  think  that, 
so  far  as  I  am  concerned,  you  have  nothing  of 
which  to  complain.  You  have  administered  per- 
sonal chastisement  to  me.  The  affront  you  put 
upon  me  was  as  great  as  that  which  I  put  upon 
Miss  Wharton." 

"  Don't  dare,"  cried  Barmore,  "  to  bring  her 
name  into  this  conversation." 

"  I  must  be  the  judge  of  what  I  am  to  say." 

"  Not  in  my  presence." 

"  In  your  presence,  or  anywhere  else.  I  did 
not  come  here  to  talk  about  that,  however.  You 
have  your  opinion  of  me.  I  have  no  doubt  it  is 
warranted.  Certainly  you  cannot  judge  me  more 
harshly  than  I  do  myself." 

"  Are  you  apologizing?  " 

"  No.  I  am  dismissing  the  subject.  I  have 
something  else  to  say  to  you." 

"  I  can  conceive  of  nothing  which  you  could 
have  to  say  to  me,  Mr.  Stebbing,  which  would  in 
the  least  degree  interest  me." 

"  I  might  say,  Mr.  Barmore,  that  I  intend  to 
support  your  candidacy  for  the  Episcopate." 


BARMORE   RESPONDS        207 

"  I  am  not  a  candidate  for  the  office.  My 
friends  have  forced  me  into  this  position." 

He  uttered  this  half-truth  desperately.  He 
would  admit  nothing  else,  even  to  himself. 

"  So  have  mine,  but  I  do  not  intend  to  allow 
them  to  go  any  further  than  they  have  already 
gone.  My  influence  and  vote  are  going  to 
you." 

"  If  I  couldn't  be  elected  without  them,  I  would 
not  receive  the  office  on  such  terms." 

"  Oh  yes,  you  would.  I  am  not  voting  for  you 
because  I  love  you,"  said  Stebbing  sardonically, 
"  but  because,  on  the  whole,  I  think  you  are  the 
best  man  we  can  get  for  the  office.  I  do  not  think 
that  you  will  be  an  ideal  Bishop  by  any  means, 
but  with  your  influential  party  backing  you,  you 
are  the  best  we  can  do,  and,  on  the  whole,  I  think 
you  will  make  a  very  good  Bishop,  indeed." 

"  Did  you  come  here  to  tell  me  this?  " 

"  No." 

"  Because,  if  you  did,  I  want  to  assure  you  that 
your  opinions  and  actions  are  matters  of  absolute 
indifference  to  me.  I  do  not  care  what  you  do, 


2o8          THE  BETTER  MAN 

or  what   you   think,    or  why  you   do   or   think 

it." 

"  You  cared  a  great  deal  for  my  actions  a  short 
time  before,"  said  Stebbing,  his  own  temper  com- 
ing to  the  fore. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  bring  that  into  the  discussion 
again?"  asked  Barmore,  striking  the  table  with 
his  clenched  fist. 

"  No,  I  do  not.  Doesn't  it  strike  you  that  we 
are  acting  like  a  pair  of  fools,  Barmore?  " 

"  I  admit  the  justice  of  the  characterization  so 
far  as  you  are  concerned.  I  do  not  wish  to  be 
inhospitable,  but,  as  I  said  before,  unless  you  have 
something  of  more  importance  than  what  you  have 
persisted  in  discussing " 

"  I  shall  not  keep  you  very  long,  and  I  have 
something  of  importance  to  say." 

"What  is  it?" 

"  You  know  about  the  threatened  strike,  which 
is  called  for  Monday  morning  between  the  Trac- 
tion employees  and " 

"  Yes,  I  know  it.  The  strikers  are  a  most 
grievous  set  of  fools.  They  have  to  thank  them- 


BARMORE   RESPONDS        209 

selves  for  their  position.  Their  extortionate  de- 
mands have  alienated  public  sympathy.  The 
strike  is  a  foredoomed  failure  from  the  beginning. 
You,  I  believe,  Mr.  Stebbing,  are  one  of  the  prin- 
cipal advisers  of  these  men,  you  and  your  hench- 
man, Penrod?  " 

"  I  freely  admit,  Mr.  Barmore,  that  I  have  put 
myself  at  the  disposal  of  these  poor  men.  I 
recognize  as  clearly  as  you  the  forfeiture  of  public 
opinion  involved  in  the  constantly  increasing  de- 
mands they  are  making  upon  General  Wharton 
and  his  associates.  I  have  urged,  pleaded,  begged 
them  again  and  again  to  revert  to  their  original 
demands,  to  confine  their  grievances  to  those  alone. 
I  am  not  without  hope  that  my  advice  may  ulti- 
mately prevail.  The  man  you  are  pleased  to  call 
my  henchman,  although  if  you  knew  him  better 
you  would  understand  that  he  is  as  independent, 
and  in  some  ways  as  arbitrary,  as  General  Whar- 
ton himself,  agrees  entirely  with  me  and  with  you 
in  this  affair.  So  persuaded  am  I  that  the  strike 
will  be  a  failure,  so  well  do  I  know  the  bloodshed 
and  property  loss,  the  suffering  of  poor  misguided 


210          THE   BETTER   MAN 

people,  women  and  children,  consequent  upon  it, 
that  I  have  put  my  pride  in  my  pocket  and  I  have 
come  here  to  you  to  solicit  your  aid." 

"  I  shall  give  no  aid  to  a  body  of  men  who  have 
so  far  forgotten  themselves  as  these  men  have." 

"  Wait,"  said  Stebbing,  "  I  am  not  asking  you 
to  do  anything  or  take  any  action  or  suggest  any 
course  to  straighten  things  out  with  them.  I 
want  you  to  do  two  things,  based  upon  the  original 
requests  of  the  employees,  which,  I  take  it,  as  a 
fair-minded  man,  you  will  say  are  quite  reasonable, 
and  can  be  granted  without  loss  of  prestige  or 
without  impairing  the  financial  condition  of  Gen- 
eral Wharton  or  the  company.  You  know,  of 
course,  what  the  original  grievances  were?" 

"  Certainly,  I  do;  and  there  might  have  been 
something  done  if  they  had  confined  themselves 
to  them  alone." 

"  Well,  I  propose  that  we  force  these  men,  who 
don't  know  what  they  are  doing,  to  return  to  these 
demands,  and  let  the  company  arbitrate  with  them 
on  these  matters.  If  that  can  be  brought  about, 
I  believe  the  whole  matter  can  be  settled  amicably. 


BARMORE   RESPONDS        211 

If  it  is  not  settled  amicably,  you  know  what  will 
happen.  The  transportation  of  the  city  will  be 
tied  up,  the  company  will  make  an  effort  to  run 
its  cars,  and  the  whole  thing  will  result  in  riot 
and  bloodshed  and  the  loss  of  property,  the  public 
will  be  greatly  inconvenienced,  business  will  be 
paralyzed,  women  and  children  will  be  the  chief 
sufferers,  and  thousands  of  men,  who  are  more  or 
less  helpless  pawns  in  the  hands  of  the  influential 
labor  agitators " 

"  Like  yourself  and  Penrod,"  put  in  Barmore 
savagely. 

"  Now,  I  don't  think  that  is  just;  but  let  it  go 
that  way,  if  you  wish  it.  I  don't  care  what  you 
say  about  me  so  long  as  I  can  bring  about  a  settle- 
ment of  some  sort.  The  troops  will  be  called  out, 
and  the  city  will  be  disgraced.  Riots  and  anar- 
chism will  result  before  the  thing  is  settled.  The 
men  will  be  beaten,  and  you  know " 

"  As  they  should  be." 

"Yes,  maybe  so;  but  the  main  thing  is  that 
thousands  of  women  and  children  will  starve  this 
winter,  and  I  came  here  to  appeal  to  you  as  a 


212          THE   BETTER   MAN 

man  for  God's  sake  to  try  to  prevent  that,  if  it 
be  possible." 

Barmore  looked  at  Stebbing,  not  saying  a  word. 

"  Now,  you  are  going  to  be  elected  Bishop  of 
this  Diocese;  at  least,  I  think  so,  if  I  can  bring 
it  about.  I  don't  bear  you  any  malice  for  that 
blow.  It  was  a  well-intended,  well-delivered  blow, 
and  perhaps  I  deserved  it.  I  do  not  love  you 
for  it,  but  somehow  I  admire  you  for  it.  I  did 
not  think  it  was  in  you,  and,  as  I  said,  while  you 
are  not  ideal,  I  think  you  will  make  a  good  Bishop 
for  this  Diocese,  and  I  think  it  will  prosper  under 
you.  But  it  is  by  no  means  certain  that  you  will 
be  elected.  I  am  no  fool,  and  the  men  behind 
me  are  very  determined  that  the  choice  they  have 
made " 

"  Yes,  it  was  a  fine  stroke  on  your  part  to  de- 
clare in  the  public  press " 

"  That  is  unworthy  of  you,  Barmore,"  said  the 
other,  "  and  a  few  more  remarks  like  that  and 
I  will  do  what  you  give  me  credit  for  doing,  admit 
that  it  was  a  fine  stroke  of  policy  on  my  part, 
which  it  was  not,  and  we'll  see  what  will  happen 


BARMORE   RESPONDS       213 

then.  Now,  I  believe  if  you  can  prevent  this  strike 
it  will  render  your  election  absolutely  certain.  It 
would  be  the  completing  touch  that  would  put  you 
where  we  would  like  to  have  you." 

Stebbing's  face  flushed,  and  he  spoke  with  such 
a  fine  glow  of  enthusiasm  that  Barmore  leaped  to 
the  suggestion.  He  saw  that  Stebbing  spoke  the 
truth.  Certainly,  if  he  could  effect  a  settlement 
of  this  strike,  which  was  assuming  such  porten- 
tous proportions,  and  which  was  claiming  the  at- 
tention of  the  public  to  such  a  degree,  it  would 
be  a  great  and  brilliant  act. 

"  What  is  there  you  want  me  to  do?  What  is 
there  I  can  do?"  he  asked. 

He  knew  very  well  what  Stebbing  would  say, 
his  own  acuteness  furnished  the  answer  to  his  own 
question,  yet  he  put  the  question,  nevertheless. 

"  I  want  you  to  go  to  General  Wharton.  Say 
to  him  that  I  am  coming  to  him  with  a  proposition, 
an  unofficial  proposition,  but  one  with  which  I 
think  I  can  influence  the  strikers  to  accept  and 
indorse,  and  prepare  him  to  meet  me  half-way. 
Will  you  do  that?" 


2i4          THE   BETTER   MAN 

Barmore  thought  quickly.  Such  an  act  com- 
mitted him  to  nothing. 

"  I  fear  that  you  overrate  my  influence  with 
the  General,"  he  began. 

"  No,  I  do  not.  You  are  his  candidate  for 
Bishop.  He  would  have  to  make  a  complete 
right-about-face  if  he  found  himself  opposing  you. 
Will  you  do  it  ?  " 

"  I  will  speak  to  the  General,  as  you  say." 

"  Good!     But  that  isn't  all  I  want  you  to  do." 

"What  more?" 

"  To-morrow  is  Sunday,  and  I  want  you  to  de- 
vote your  Sunday  morning  sermon  to  the  same 
purpose.  Suggest  publicly  therein  that  the  matter 
be  settled  by  reducing  the  demands  of  the  strikers 
to  their  first  proposition,  and  then  demand  that 
this  proposition  should  be  arbitrated  or  granted, 
and  you  would  in  a  measure  force  General  Whar- 
ton's  hand.  He  will  accede  to  your  sugges- 
tion, or  he  will  not.  If  he  will  not,  he  will 
find  it  difficult  to  continue  to  advocate  you  for 
the  Episcopate.  He  is  a  hard  man  to  deal  with, 
but  I  believe  that,  with  this  influence  brought  to 


BARMORE   RESPONDS        215 

bear  upon  him,  and  with  other  influences  which 
I  have  enlisted,  we  can  force  him  into  this  position. 
Will  you  preach  such  a  sermon?  " 

Barmore  hesitated.  Going  to  General  Whar- 
ton  would  be  a  private  affair;  this  would  be  pub- 
licly committing  himself  in  an  irrevocable  way. 
With  General  Wharton  alone  he  could  draw  back 
if  circumstances  rendered  it  advisable  or  necessary. 
All  he  had  to  do,  apparently,  was  to  let  matters 
take  their  course.  The  men  would  strike;  they 
would  be  beaten,  and  his  position  would  not  be 
affected  one  way  or  the  other.  But  if  he  spoke 
out  publicly,  he  would  immediately  be  hurled  into 
the  thick  of  the  fight.  What  then?  There  was 
good  stuff  in  Barmore,  and  for  a  moment,  at  least, 
he  was  filled  with  enthusiasm.  It  was  a  chance 
with  a  brilliant  possibility  of  success. 

"  I  will  think  about  it,"  he  said  at  last. 

"  No,  that  won't  do.  I  must  have  your  answer 
now.  Think  now,  Barmore;  think  what  you  can 
do.  Let  us  put  aside  all  of  our  ambitions  and 
our  rivalries,  and  everything  else,  and  confine  our- 
selves to  that  single  issue.  Think  what  you  can* 


216          THE   BETTER   MAN 

do  if  you  bring  about  that  settlement.  You  occupy 
the  most  conspicuous  pulpit  in  the  city,  and  I  have 
but  to  whisper  to  the  newspapers  that  you  will 
discuss  the  subject,  and  you  will  find  every  word 
that  you  say  will  be  taken  down.  It  will  be  read 
and  quoted  throughout  the  city  and  the  state.  Will 
you  do  it?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Barmore,  "  I  will." 
"  And  I  may  tell  the  papers  that  you  are  going 
to  preach  on  the  threatened  strike  to-morrow  morn- 
ing at  St.  Hilda's  ?" 
"  You  may." 

"  Thank  you,  and  God  bless  you,  old  man !  " 
"  Please,"  said  Barmore  harshly,  "  I  haven't  for- 
gotten." 

"  All  right,"  said  Stebbing,  "  I  accept  your  de- 
cision." 

"  Wait,"  said  Barmore;  "  you  said  that  you  had 
brought  other  influences   to   bear  upon   General 
Wharton.      Whose?" 
"His  daughter's." 

"Whatl"  cried  the  other,  "you  had  the  ef- 
frontery to  go  to  her  after " 


BARMORE   RESPONDS       217 

"  Be  reasonable,"  said  Stebbing,  "  it  was  harder 
for  me  to  go  and  see  her  than  it  was  to  come  here. 
I  had  to  do  it.  General  Wharton  is  devoted  to 
his  daughter.  I  could  not  afford  not  to  have  her 
influence  in  this  settlement." 

"  What  was  the  purport  of  that  interview?  "  he 
cried. 

"  Have  you  taken  leave  of  your  senses?  "  asked 
Stebbing.  "  I  have  just  told  you  that  I  went  there 
to  interest  her,  and  that  I  had  succeeded  in  getting 
her  to  promise  that  she  would  do  what  she  could 
with  her  father." 

"Was  that  all  that  happened?" 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"  Did  you  kiss  her  again?  " 

At  this  final,  deadly  innuendo,  Stebbing's  forti- 
tude at  last  gave  way. 

"  How  dare  you?  "  he  cried,  white  with  passion, 
clenching  his  fist  and  stepping  near.  "  I  would 
pay  you  in  your  own  coin  if  I  struck  you  as  you 
struck  me  for  that  insult.  It  is  not  only  an  insult 
to  me — it  is  an  insult  to  her.  You  expect  to  marry 
her,  don't  you?  " 


2i8          THE  BETTER  MAN 

"  Yes,  when  this  election  is  over,"  said  Barmore 
emphatically. 

"  I  thought  so,"  said  Stebbing,  paler  than  be- 
fore; "well  then,  try  to  think  better  of  her  than 
that.  I  went  for  her  influence.  Now,  I  think 
I  have  had  as  much  from  you  as  I  can  stand.  If 
I  sinned,  I  have  paid  for  it.  I  understand,  in 
closing,  that  you  are  going  to  General  Wharton, 
and  that  you  are  going  to  preach  on  the  strike  to- 
morrow morning.  Is  that  correct?  " 

"  I  have  said  so,"  said  the  other. 

"Very  well;  I  have  nothing  more  to  say  to 
you.  If  you  keep  your  promise,  well  and  good. 
If  you  do  not,  on  your  own  head  be  it.  I  have 
done  my  best,  and  there  is  no  more  anyone  can 
do." 

"  Will  you  please,"  said  Barmore,  "  not  come 
to  see  me  or  trouble  me  again?  " 

"  I  am  not  likely  to,"  answered  Stebbing;  "  I 
will  leave  your  own  troubles  to  your  own  con- 


CHAPTER  VIII 

FOUND  WANTING 

GENERAL  WHARTON  came  home  for  luncheon 
whenever  he  could  get  away.  For  one  thing,  it 
gave  him  a  quiet  hour  with  his  daughter.  The 
two  rarely  dined  together,  and  they  hardly  ever 
breakfasted  together.  The  General  was  away 
and  at  work  before  his  daughter  was  up,  but  they 
made  it  a  point  to  lunch  together  whenever  it  was 
possible.  That  morning  he  had  received  a  tele- 
phone message  from  his  daughter,  urging  him  not 
to  fail  to  return  home  for  luncheon,  as  she  had 
some  matters  of  importance  which  she  wished  to 
discuss  with  him. 

After  the  servants  had  withdrawn,  she  broached 
the  subject. 

"  Mr.  Stebbing  was  here  this  morning,"  she 
began. 

"  What!  "  exclaimed  her  father;  "  did  he  have 
the  insolence  to  present  himself  here  after  the  way 

he  has  insulted  you?  " 

219 


220          THE   BETTER  MAN 

"  Yes." 

"Did  he  come  to  apologize?" 

"  No." 

"  Of  all  the  impudence,"  said  the  General,  "  I 
am  an  old  man,  but  I  declare  that  personal  chas- 
tisement is  what  he  needs,  and  I  am  not  too  old 
or  too  weak  to  administer  it.  I  will  see  that  young 
man  and " 

"  He  came  under  pressure  of  great  necessity," 
interrupted  the  other. 

"What  sort  of  necessity?  To  talk  about  his 
absurd  candidacy  for  Bishop,  I  suppose?" 

"  Certainly  not.  The  only  mention  he  made 
of  that  was  to  say  that  he  would  not  accept  it 
himself,  and  that  he  intended  to  vote  for  Mr.  Bar- 
more." 

"  That  was  a  cheap  plea  for  your  sympathy." 

"  Father,"  said  the  girl,  her  face  flushing,  "  I 
do  think  you  misjudge  him." 

"  Since  when  have  you  become  his  advo- 
cate?" 

"  I  certainly  am  not  that,  but  there  are  some 
good  things  in  the  man,  and  I  am  just  enough 


FOUND   WANTING  221 

to  see  them.  You  must  be  just  enough  to  see 
them,  too." 

"  In  what  way  has  he  influenced  you  to  discuss 
and  appraise  these  qualities?  "  asked  the  General. 

"  In  no  way,"  said  the  girl,  "  except  by  telling 
me  facts  about  the  strike." 

"  Don't  meddle  with  that,  my  dear.  That  is 
my  business,  and  it  is  going  to  take  men  to  attend 
to  it  before  we  get  through  with  it." 

"  You  mean  there  will  be  trouble  ?  " 

"  I  am  sure  of  it.  We  will,  of  course,  run  our 
cars,  and  the  men  will  try  to  prevent  us.  There 
will  be  bloodshed,  rioting,  and  loss  of  property, 
and  but  one  end." 

"What  is  that?" 

"  Our  complete  and  entire  triumph.  The  mayor 
will  call  for  troops,  and  the  mobs  will  be  dispersed, 
and  we  will  be  allowed  to  run  our  cars,  manage 
our  property  without  suggestions  from  a  lot  of 
knaves  and  fools  like  Stebbing  and  Penrod." 

"  Is  he  a  knave  or  a  fool,  do  you  think,  father?  " 

"  Perhaps  a  little  of  both." 

"  Oh !  I  am  sure  you  are  unjust." 


222          THE  BETTER  MAN 

"  Well,  fool,  then,  although  he  acted  a  knave's 
part  in  the  library  the  other  day." 

"  He  is  not  acting  either  part  now,  father." 

"  What  do  you  know  about  it  ?  " 

"He  came  here  with  a  proposition  for  settle- 
ment." 

"  I  will  entertain  no  proposition  of  any  sort  for 
settlement,"  said  the  General. 

"  Don't  say  that.  You  don't  know  what  his 
proposition  is." 

"What  is  it,  then?" 

"  He  is  going  to  present  it  himself." 

"  And  he  will  have  the  insolence  to  come  to  me 
after " 

"  He  said  that,  since  you  knew  of  the  unfor- 
tunate affair,  that  it  was  all  the  more  necessary  for 
him  to  see  you." 

"  The  effrontery  of " 

"Wait,  father.  You  will  see  him  when  he 
comes,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  for  no  other  reason  than  that  it  will 
give  me  a  chance  to  speak  my  mind, 

"You  will  hear  his  proposition?" 


FOUND   WANTING  223 

"  I  would  rather  hear  it  from  you." 

"  He  says  that  he  thinks  he  can  influence  the 
men  to  return  to  their  original  demands  if  the 
company  will  agree  to  consider  them,  and  he  thinks 
a  compromise  can  be  arranged  which  will  be  satis- 
factory to  the  men  and  in  no  way  detrimental  to 
the  interests  of  the  company.  He  came  here  to 
ask  me  to  use  my  influence  to  get  you  to  consent  to 
this." 

"  Your  influence  is  very  great  with  me  in  most 
matters,  my  dear,  but  in  this  I  must  be  guided  by 
a  man's  judgment,  rather  than  by  a  woman's 
wishes." 

"  I  do  wish  this  very  much,  father.  You  know 
very  well,  you  have  just  told  me,  what  trouble 
will  ensue  if  this  strike  is  not  settled." 

The  girl  spoke  as  firmly  as  her  father.  He 
admired  her  for  it,  but  he  would  not  change  his 
course  of  action. 

"  I  can  consent  to  nothing;  Mr.  Stebbing  has 
no  authority  to  take  this  position,  I  understand?  " 

"  No,"  admitted  the  girl  reluctantly,  "  he  says 
that  they  are  determined  to  press  their  demands, 


224          THE   BETTER   MAN 

but  he  thinks  if  you  will  take  this  position  public 
opinion  will  force  them  to  meet  you  also." 

"  He  thinks,  does  he  ?  Well,  public  opinion  is 
on  the  side  of  the  Traction  Company  for  once, 
and  that  is  saying  a  good  deal,  for  public  opinion 
is  generally  against  us.  Suppose  I  should  consent 
to  a  thing  of  this  kind.  We  have  no  evidence 
that  the  men  would  accept  or  entertain  the  proposi- 
tion for  a  moment." 

"  I  told  Mr.  Stebbing  that  he  overrated  my  in- 
fluence with  you,"  said  Margaret  sadly,  as  her 
father  rose  from  the  table,  "  but  he  said  that  he 
would  see  Mr.  Barmore  about  it." 

"  Did  he  go  to  see  Barmore?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  That  passes  belief.  What  has  Barmore  got 
to  do  with  it?  Let  him  attend  to  his  candidacy 
for  the  Episcopate,  and  keep  out  of  this 
matter." 

"  He  wanted  Mr.  Barmore  to  come  and  see  you, 
and  I  imagine  that  he  is  trying  to  get  him  to  preach 
on  the  subject." 

"  I  will  see  Barmore  on  the  subject  myself,  my 


FOUND   WANTING  225 

dear,  and  if  that  man  presents  himself  to  you  again, 
tell  him  to  keep  women  out  of  the  game." 

"  But  women  and  children  are  already  in  the 
game.  The  wives  and  children  of  these  poor 
ignorant  men." 

"  They  can  look  out  for  themselves.  If  they 
choose  fools  for  husbands,  I  can't  help  it,"  said 
the  General. 

He  stooped  and  kissed  his  daughter  good-by. 

"Are  you  going  so  soon,  father?  Won't  you 
stay  here  and  smoke  your  cigar?  " 

"  I  am  going  to  see  Barmore  and  put  an  end 
to  this  business  at  once.  I  do  not  intend  to  have 
a  Bishop  in  this  Diocese  who  will  interfere  with 
me." 

It  was  rarely  that  the  General  spoke  so  frankly 
about  his  desires  and  hopes.  It  was  rare,  indeed, 
that  he  permitted  himself  the  luxury  of  such  out- 
spokenness about  anything,  especially  with  regard 
to  the  Episcopate.  It  was  well  that  he  did  not 
continue  the  conversation  further — that  he  did  not 
stay  and  observe  the  look  of  pain  and  humiliation 
and  surprise  in  his  daughter's  eyes  at  this  dis- 


226          THE  BETTER  MAN 

closure  of  his  real  feelings.  They  were  all  against 
Stebbing,  she  thought.  He  had  not  a  well-wisher, 
not  a  supporter,  but — she  could  not  permit  the  line 
of  thought  to  develop  further. 

The  General  was  not  long  after  Stebbing  in 
Barmore's  study. 

"  My  friend,"  he  began  abruptly,  "  Margaret 
has  told  me  that  Stebbing  has  been  to  see  you,  and 
that  he  has  been  to  see  her." 

"  Yes,  General,  he  has." 

"  I  know  what  his  proposition  is,  and  I  am  in- 
formed that  he  has  asked  you  to  use  your  influence 
with  me  to  get  me  to  accede  to  it.  Also,  I  under- 
stand that  he  has  asked  you  to  preach  in  line  with 
his  views  at  St.  Hilda's  to-morrow." 

"  You  are  correct." 

"  I  don't  want  to  know  what  you  promised. 
You  are  an  entirely  free  agent,  and  I  am  the  last 
man  on  earth  who  would  desire  to  exercise  any 
influence  over  you  to  induce  you  to  do  that  which 
your  conscience  did  not  approve.  I  am  sure  that 
if  I  did  have  such  a  desire,  and  if  I  did  make 
such  an  attempt,  it  would  avail  nothing.  I 


FOUND  WANTING  227 

only  want  to  say  two  things  to  you.  In  the  first 
place,  Stebbing  has  no  authority  whatever  for  his 
proposition.  It  is  simply  an  attempt  on  his  part. 
He  has  no  assurance  at  all  that  it  would  be  accept- 
able to  the  men.  If  I  took  action  upon  it,  it  would 
be  considered  as  a  confession  of  weakness.  I  am 
not  even  prepared  to  admit  that  the  original  de- 
mands of  the  men  were  justifiable,  but  if  I  should 
perhaps  agree  to  arbitrate  upon  that  basis,  on 
Stebbing's  unsupported  request,  my  control  over 
my  own  affairs  would  be  gone  like  that." 

He  snapped  his  fingers  as  he  spoke. 

"  It  would  result  in  a  further  increase  of  the 
demands  of  the  strikers,  and  it  would  be  time  and 
labor  wasted,"  he  continued. 

"  Public  opinion  is  with  the  Traction  Company 
now  for  a  wonder.  I  won't  alienate  it.  I  will 
stand  pat  and  let  the  strikers  have  the  next  move. 
I  won't  do  what  is  asked.  I  positively  will  not 
do  it.  I  speak  not  only  for  myself,  but  for  my 
associates.  I  will  show  the  city  who  is  running 
this  Traction  Company  right  now.  That  is  the 
first  point.  The  second  is  that  you  are  now  a 


228          THE   BETTER   MAN 

candidate  for  the  high  and  holy  office  of  Bishop 
of  this  Diocese.  Devout  members  of  the  Church 
have  pledged  themselves  to  your  election.  They 
have  confidence  in  your  tact  and  discrimination  and 
ability  to  fight,  if  necessary  for  the  Church,  but  in 
my  opinion  such  work  should  not  be  coupled  with 
anything  mercantile  or  financial  outside  of  the 
Church.  The  effect  of  the  sermon  which  I  have 
no  doubt  Stebbing  has  asked  you  to  preach  you 
can  judge  as  well  as  I.  I  only  feel  it  proper  to 
set  before  you  the  conditions  under  which  you  are 
to  preach,  and  God  forbid  that  I  should  try  to 
influence  you  one  way  or  the  other.  Now,  Bar- 
more,  I  like  you;  I  have  marked  you  from  the 
beginning,  I  have  espoused  your  candidacy  for 
Bishop,  I  am  more  than  willing  to  welcome  you 
as  my  son-in-law,  and  I  believe  that  after  the  elec- 
tion is  satisfactorily  over  then  the  broken  engage- 
ment will  be  renewed.  I  am  not  without  influence 
in  my  home,  and  all  that  I  have  I  expect  and  hope 
to  use  in  your  behalf,  if  I  find  you  are  worthy  of 
my  confidence.  Stebbing  is  a  well-meaning  man; 
we  all  know  he  means  well,  and  he  is  doing  a  great 


FOUND  WANTING  229 

work  in  his  church,  but  he  is  young  and  inex- 
perienced, and  has  not  been  put  in  touch  with 
affairs  as  you  have.  He  is  hot-tempered, 
impetuous — I  am  sure  I  need  not  continue 
further." 

"  Naturally,  General,"  said  Barmore,  who  had 
listened  most  attentively  to  the  General's  subtle 
and  powerful  statement,  and  who  could  read  quite 
easily  all  that  he  was  meant  to  see  between  the 
lines  of  it;  "I  reserve  the  right  to  act  in  accord- 
ance with  my  judgment,  and  to  do  what  is  right 
as  I  see  it,  without  regard  to  what  others  may 
think." 

"  Of  course,"  said  the  General,  "  and,  therefore, 
I  shall  say  no  more  on  this  subject." 

"  I  shall  preach  to-morrow  at  St.  Hilda's.  I 
do  not  quite  know  what  my  course  will  be,  but 
I  shall  do  it  without  a  thought  of  anything  except 
what  is  the  right  thing  to  do." 

"  I  believe  you,  my  boy,"  said  the  General,  more 
than  satisfied  with  the  course  the  events  were  tak- 
ing, as  he  shrewdly  read  his  man,  "  and  I  shall 
be  there  in  my  accustomed  pew." 


23o          THE   BETTER   MAN 

"  I  shall  expect  you  as  usual,"  said  Barmore, 
smiling  at  him  to  show  that  all  was  well. 

They  were  brave  words  that  he  had  spoken. 
How  far  he  really  meant  them,  and  how  far  they 
would  be  carried  out  remained  to  be  seen.  The 
General  had  been  very  deft  in  his  remarks,  but 
his  meaning  was  quite  plain,  thought  Barmore,  as 
he  was  left  alone.  He  began  to  regret  that  brief, 
clear  statement  that  he  had  made  to  Stebbing. 
How  had  he  permitted  Stebbing  to  cozen  him  into 
that  false  position?  Well,  he  was  fortunate  to 
be  blessed  with  advisers  like  General  Wharton. 
It  was  not  too  late  for  him  to  choose  the  right 
course.  He  was  quite  sure  what  the  right  course 
was  now,  quite  independently  of  any  effect  it  might 
have  on  his  election! 

When  General  Wharton  reached  his  office  after 
his  interview  with  Barmore,  he  found  Stebbing 
waiting  for  him  as  he  had  more  than  half  ex- 
pected. It  was  more  difficult  to  get  access  to 
General  Wharton  than  to  his  daughter  ordinarily, 
but  to-day  it  was  made  astonishingly  easy,  for  so 
soon  as  the  General  had  entered  his  private  office 


FOUND   WANTING  231 

by  his  private  door,  he  had  discovered  Stebbing's 
card  and  had  sent  for  him  without  the  loss  of  a 
minute. 

"  Well,  sir,"  he  began  sternly,  as  Stebbing 
entered  the  door,  "  I  am  surprised  beyond  measure 
at  your  effrontery  in  coming  to  see  me.  Let  me 
tell  you,  sir,  that  I  have  been  informed  of  your  out- 
rageous conduct  some  two  months  since,  when  you 
called  upon  my  daughter.  Were  you  not  a  clergy- 
man, I  think  I  should  feel  inclined  to  visit  such 
an  action  with  personal  chastisement,  and " 

"  General  Wharton,"  began  Stebbing,  "  it  was 
partly  because  of  that  affair  that  I  came  here.  I 
loved,  I  still  love,  your  daughter — quite  hopelessly, 
of  course.  I  will  admit  that  I  behaved  out- 
rageously on  that  occasion.  I  suppose  that  you 
have  learned  of  it  through  Mr.  Barmore.  I  am 
sure  that  Miss  Wharton  would  never  have  men- 
tioned it." 

"  She  never  did  until  I  brought  it  to  her." 

"  Well,  since  Barmore  did  tell  you,"  went  on 
Stebbing  with  a  thrill  of  disgust  at  such  a  betrayal, 
"  he  probably  disclosed  to  you  the  added  fact  that 


232          THE   BETTER   MAN 

he  struck  me  on  the  mouth  when  he  learned  what 
I  had  done,  and  that  I  suffered  the  blow,  a  thing 
I  would  never  have  allowed  under  any  other 
circumstances  or  from  any  other  man,  and 
which " 

"  You  well  deserved,"  put  in  the  General. 

"  Which,  as  you  say,  perhaps,  was  well  deserved, 
and  for  which  I  have  made  sufficient  expiation; 
therefore,  I  do  not  propose  to  allow  you  or  any 
other  man  to  talk  to  me  as  you  started  to  do  a 
moment  since." 

"  What  did  you  expect  me  to  say  when  I  met 
you?  " 

"  I  rather  expected  just  what  I  received." 

"  I  am  glad  you  were  not  disappointed." 

"And  you  may  well  imagine,  sir,"  returned 
Stebbing,  resolved  that  he  would  not  lose  his  tem- 
per, "  that  if  my  business  had  not  been  of  the 
utmost  importance  I  should  not  have  subjected 
myself  to  this  possibility." 

"  Your  business  I  have  learned  is  about  the  out- 
rageous conduct  of  the  employees  of  the  Traction 
Company." 


FOUND  WANTING  233 

"  It  is  about  the  threatened  strike,  if  that  is 
what  you  mean  by  outrageous  conduct." 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  the  General,  "  you  may  spare 
yourself  any  further  discussion  of  it.  I  have  had 
from  my  daughter,  and  from  my  Rector,  Mr.  Bar- 
more,  a  clear  presentation  of  your  views  and  your 
desires.  My  daughter  advocates  your  position 
with  inexplicable  enthusiasm,  and  Mr.  Barmore 
also  presented  your  side  of  the  case." 

"  Then,  in  that  case,  I  only  have  to  receive  your 
answer." 

"  There  is  no  reason  why  I  should  make  that 
or  any  other  answer  to  you,  Mr.  Stebbing.  By 
your  own  statement  you  are  a  rank  outsider  in  this 
confounded  muddle." 

"  Hardly  that,  General." 

"  Well,  you  have  no  official  relationship  to  the 
men,  and  certainly  none  to  me." 

"  Nevertheless,"  pursued  Stebbing,  "  with  the 
assistance  of  Penrod  and  some  of  the  clearer- 
headed  men  among  your  employees,  some  of  the 
oldest  and  most  faithful  men,  if  you  would  accede 
to  my  request  I  am  sure  we  could  bring  about 


234          THE   BETTER   MAN 

a  settlement.     The  only  thing  for  you  to  say  is, 

will  you  or  will  you  not?  " 

"  I  have  said,  and  I  repeat  that  I  see  no  reason 
why  I  should  say  anything  to  you,  Mr.  Stebbing." 

"  But  you  will,  General,  I  am  sure.  I  come 
to  you  as  a  citizen  with  what  I  believe  a  fair 
proposition.  Naturally,  you  can  have  no  objec- 
tion to  giving  me  your  opinion  of  it." 

"  I  won't  do  it,"  said  the  General  bluntly. 

"  You  won't  tell  me  or  you  won't  take  the  action 
we  suggest?  " 

"  I  won't  take  the  action  you  suggest.  The 
men  have  placed  themselves  beyond  the  pale  of 
consideration  by  their  abusive  language,  by  their 
excessive  demands,  and  by  the  threats  of  trouble 
which  they  have  made.  The  property  is  mine, 
and  I  propose  to  run  it  as  I  please." 

"  But  the  interests  of  the  public  and  the  welfare 
of  hundreds  of  helpless  people  depend  upon  these 
men,  upon  these  strikers?" 

"  I  don't  care  to  hear  further  argument  on  the 
subject  from  you,  Mr.  Stebbing.  So  far  as  I  am 
concerned,  I  have  nothing  more  to  say  to  the  men 


FOUND  WANTING  235 

than  what  has  been  said.  They  can  take  any 
course  that  they  like,  and  the  consequences  will 
be  upon  their  own  heads.  If  they  are  well  advised 
they  won't  strike." 

"  But,"  persisted  Stebbing,  who  was  reluctant 
to  give  up  hope,  "  if  they  do,  the  calamity  will 
fall  upon  the  public  and  upon  the  wives  and  the 
children  of  the  men,  and  in  the  name  of  the  city 
and » 

"  Well,  it  will  not  be  on  my  head,"  interrupted 
the  General;  "  I  am  not  responsible  for  the  foolish- 
ness and  the  crime  and  the  extortion  of  the  men." 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  about  that.  I  think  you 
are  in  a  large  measure  responsible,"  said  Stebbing. 

The  General  glared  at  him,  and  then  turned 
away. 

"  I  will  hear  no  more,  sir.  I  won't  allow  any 
man  to  talk  to  me  in  that  strain,  even  if  he  were 
what  you  hope  to  be,  and  never  will  be — the 
Bishop  himself." 

The  interview  was  ended.  Stebbing  Had  played 
his  last  card.  The  whole  situation  turned  upon 
the  position  Barmore  would  take  in  his  sermon  the 


236          THE  BETTER   MAN 

following  morning.  If  he  were  true  to  his  prom- 
ise, General  Wharton  and  his  associates  might  be 
forced  to  follow  the  policy  which  Stebbing  had 
suggested.  If  Barmore  failed  him,  he  was  with- 
out hope.  The  matter  would  have  to  be  fought 
out  to  the  bitter  end.  He  could  only  pray  that 
Barmore  would  be  faithful,  that  he  would  rise  to 
the  measure  of  his  opportunities,  for  if  he  did  not, 
trouble,  so  terrible  in  its  character  that  he  could 
not  bear  to  think  of  it,  would  be  the  result. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  CHOICE  IS  NOT  YET 

ON  Tuesday  morning  the  Diocesan  Convention 
met  at  St.  Hilda's.  The  delegates  assembled  in 
the  midst  of  civic  disturbances  and  open  strife 
in  the  street,  for  the  strike  had  been  called  at 
midnight  on  the  preceding  Sunday.  Barmore  had 
failed  Stebbing.  He  had  preached  a  brilliant  and 
powerful  sermon,  in  which  he  had  pointed  out 
that,  while  the  original  demands  of  the  men  had 
been  in  a  measuure  justified,  they  had  forfeited 
the  right  to  have  them  considered  by  the  way  they 
had  been  increased,  until  to  grant  their  request 
now  meant  an  absolute  surrender  of  the  property, 
which  would  in  effect  ruin  the  company  and  beggar 
thousands  of  people  who  had  invested  their  earn- 
ings in  it.  Barmore  advised  the  strikers  to  sub- 
mit unconditionally,  and  in  an  exceedingly  able 
address  promised  them  that,  in  case  they  should 

do  so,  he  would  use  all  the  influence  he  could 
237 


238          THE   BETTER   MAN 

bring  to  bear  to  have  such  changes  made  as  the 
Traction  Company  of  its  own  free  will  might 
allow  the  strikers. 

The  sermon  was  a  striking  production,  and  the 
preacher  most  cleverly  avoided  the  realities  of  the 
issue  as  set  forth  by  Stebbing,  while  he  kept  strictly 
to  the  letter  of  the  promise.  Those  who,  for 
one  reason  or  another,  looked  beneath  the  surface, 
found  satisfaction  or  discouragement  in  the  pres- 
entation dependent  upon  their  viewpoint.  Gen- 
eral Wharton  stepped  up  to  the  young  Rector 
after  the  service  and  patted  him  on  the  shoulder. 

"  It  was  a  noble  performance.  You  are  true 
blue,"  he  said.  "  I  know  now  that  I  can  depend 
upon  you.  This  makes  your  election  certain.  If 
the  men  will  go  back  and  put  themselves  com- 
pletely at  the  mercy  of  the  company,  we  will  see 
what  can  be  done." 

And  his  approving  words  were  almost  like  words 
from  on  high  to  the  wretched  minister,  who  was 
by  no  means  satisfied  himself  with  his  own  per- 
formance. 

Stebbing  had  said  nothing  publicly.      He  real- 


THE   CHOICE   IS   NOT   YET    239 

ized  with  a  sinking  heart  that  Barmore  had  failed 
him.  He  had  not  thought  it  possible.  He  had 
lost  his  opinion  of  the  man.  He  could  never 
vote  for  him  for  Bishop  after  that,  and  yet  his 
election  seemed  inevitable.  His  course  cleverly 
had  made  that  the  more  probable.  There  was  no 
other  candidate  on  the  horizon.  He  himself  was 
more  determined  than  ever  that  he  should  not  be 
chosen,  but  he  saw  no  way  out  of  the  dilemma. 

The  strike  progressed  from  the  talking  stage  to 
the  acting  with  more  rapidity  than  was  usual.  The 
transportation  of  the  city  was  practically  tied  up 
instantly.  The  Traction  Company  sent  out  cars 
at  long  intervals,  which  were  at  first  allowed  to 
go  over  the  line,  meeting  with  nothing  more  seri- 
ous than  sneers  and  jeers,  but  as  more  and  more 
cars  were  put  on  the  lines,  and  the  service  began 
to  assume  some  degree  of  regularity,  the  strikers 
became  ugly.  Before  nightfall  on  Monday  riots 
were  reported  from  various  parts  of  the  city.  On 
Tuesday  morning,  when  the  Convention  was  called, 
the  situation  had  developed  almost  to  the  point 
of  anarchy.  The  different  transportation  systems 


24o          THE   BETTER   MAN 

of  the  city,  which  were  controlled  by  the  Traction 
Company,  were  practically  tied  up.  Cars  had 
been  stoned  whenever  they  had  appeared,  volun- 
teer motormen  and  conductors  had  been  badly  mis- 
handled. Two  or  three  deaths  had  resulted.  Po- 
lice reserves  had  been  called  out,  but  found  them- 
selves utterly  unable  to  cope  with  the  situation. 
The  early  editions  of  the  afternoon  papers  called 
repeatedly  for  troops  to  suppress  the  mob. 

It  was  in  scenes  like  this  that  the  clergy  and 
the  laity  of  the  Diocese,  in  the  most  wealthy  and 
influential  church  in  the  city,  met  to  choose  another 
leader.  Dr.  Lydon,  the  President  of  the  Stand- 
ing Committee,  being  too  old  and  feeble  to  pre- 
side, the  famous  Bishop  of  a  neighboring  Diocese 
was  called  to  the  chair.  By  the  canon  law  the 
elections  were  made  by  the  clergy  alone.  When 
they  had  decided  upon  a  candidate,  his  election  was 
subject  to  confirmation  by  the  lay  deputies.  Should 
the  house  of  lay  deputies  fail  to  agree  with  the 
house  of  clerical  deputies,  the  election  would  fail, 
and  new  ballots  would  be  cast  by  the  clergy,  until 
such  time  as  they  agreed  upon  a  man  who  was 


THE   CHOICE   IS  NOT  YET    241 

acceptable  to  the  laity.  The  morning  was  given 
over  to  the  solemn  functions  connected  with  the 
Convention,  the  preaching  of  a  sermon  in  memory 
of  the  dead  Bishop,  and  to  the  delivery  of  eulogies 
by  the  different  members.  After  lunch  the  house 
had  been  organized  and  the  necessary  routine  was 
rapidly  gone  through  to  prepare  for  the  election, 
which  was  set  for  three  o'clock  that  after- 
noon. 

The  excitement  in  the  Convention  was  scarcely 
less  great  than  that  which  raged  outside.  Some- 
how or  another  the  two  leading  candidates  had 
become  identified  with  the  two  parties  to  the  strike 
in  the  street.  It  was  easy  to  understand  that; 
Barmore,  being  the  candidate  of  the  party  of  which 
General  Wharton  was  the  chief,  would  be  identi- 
fied with  the  ownership  of  the  Traction  Company ; 
it  was  also  inevitable  that  Stebbing,  whose  interest 
in  the  laboring  people,  who  made  up  his  congre- 
gation, was  well  known,  should  be  considered  as 
the  candidate  of  the  strikers  and  their  friends. 

Careful  calculations  had  been  made  by  such 
statisticians,  tacticians,  and  politicians  as  Whar- 


242          THE   BETTER   MAN 

ton  and  Penrod.  The  latter  had  developed  a  tre- 
mendous ability  as  a  fighter.  There  was  no  know- 
ing how  all  of  the  members  of  the  Convention 
would  vote,  but  it  was  sufficiently  well  settled  in 
most  cases  to  enable  both  leaders  to  feel  that  the 
result  would  depend  upon  a  very  few  votes.  In- 
deed, General  Wharton  was  also  prepared  to  admit 
the  possibility  that  Stebbing  might  receive  the 
larger  majority  in  the  clerical  vote.  This  would 
be  offset  by  an  overwhelming  majority  against  him 
when  the  lay  vote  would  be  taken.  General  Whar- 
ton hoped  eventually  to  force  the  clergy  to  nomi- 
nate Barmore,  because  the  strength  of  his  follow- 
ing among  the  laity  would  determine  that  no  other 
candidate  could  be  successful. 

If  the  two  houses,  clerical  and  lay,  had  voted 
together  there  would  probably  have  been  a  clear 
majority  in  favor  of  Barmore.  This  was  evi- 
denced by  the  passing  of  a  resolution,  indorsed  by 
General  Wharton,  that  there  should  be  no  nomi- 
nating speeches,  that  gentlemen  desiring  to  present 
candidates  to  the  Convention  should  do  so  simply 
by  name.  Although  this  resolution  was  vehemently 


THE   CHOICE   IS  NOT  YETi  243 

objected  to  by  Penrod,  the  previous  question  was 
moved,  and  although  such  a  motion  was  not  pro- 
vided for  in  the  rules  of  order,  it  was  put,  passed, 
and  the  motion  of  General  Wharton  that  there 
should  be  no  nominating  speeches  prevailed.  Gen- 
eral Wharton  thereupon  rose  and  nominated  the 
Rev.  Lionel  Dana  Barmore.  The  nomination  was 
seconded  by  a  great  many  of  the  deputies. 

When  the  excitement  had  entirely  died  down, 
Penrod  rose  to  his  feet  and  was  recognized.  He 
spoke  with  the  utmost  rapidity. 

"  In  compliance  with  the  wishes  of  the  dead 
Bishop,  and  in  behalf  of  the  living  people,  I  nomi- 
nate the  Rev.  Mark  Stebbing." 

Deputies  from  all  over  the  house  rose,  present- 
ing points  of  order,  and  declaring  that  the  nomina- 
tion had  been  out  of  order.  The  chair  was  forced 
to  rule  that  the  gentleman  had  committed  a  breach 
of  privilege.  When  order  was  restored,  Penrod 
humbly  admitted  his  fault,  and  coolly  nominated 
again  without  comment  the  Rev.  Mark  Stebbing. 
He  did  not  seem  particularly  cast  down  over  the 
scoring  he  had  received.  He  had  made  his  point, 


244          THE   BETTER   MAN 
and  he  could  afford  to  be  indifferent  to  any  per- 
sonal consequences  to  himself. 

Several  other  men  were  nominated,  and  prepara- 
tion for  balloting  on  the  part  of  the  clergy  was 
at  once  begun.  It  was  ascertained  that  there  were 
three  hundred  and  fourteen  clergymen  present  who 
were  entitled  to  vote.  One  hundred  and  fifty-eight 
were  necessary  to  a  choice. 

Stebbing  had  been  forcibly  restrained  in  his  seat 
by  his  friends  when  Penrod  nominated  him.  He 
was  in  a  very  painful  position.  He  could  not 
vote  for  Barmore;  he  was  still  persuaded  that  it 
would  be  a  great  mistake  to  elect  him.  There 
was  no  one  among  the  other  men  for  whom  he 
cared  to  vote.  Penrod  and  the  others  told  him 
plainly  that  it  was  necessarily  either  he  or  Bar- 
more,  and  no  matter  how  unworthy  he  thought 
himself,  he  couldn't  possibly  be  more  so  than  Bar- 
more  for  the  office.  His  agitation  was  so  marked 
that  one  of  the  spectators  in  the  gallery,  at  least, 
noted  it.  The  main  part  of  the  church  was  re- 
served for  the  deputies  alone.  The  gallery,  how- 
ever, was  crowded  with  a  brilliant  assembly  in 


THE   CHOICE   IS   NOT  YET    245 

which  there  were  many  women  who  had  come 
to  see  the  issue  decided. 

The  clerical  deputies  apparently  had  their  minds 
made  up  as  to  the  man  for  whom  they  intended 
to  vote,  for  they  balloted  with  great  rapidity. 
Routine  business  concerning  the  financial  relations 
of  the  new  Bishop  to  the  Diocese  took  up  the  time 
while  the  tellers  were  counting  the  votes.  Here 
again  Stebbing's  party  suffered  a  decided  defeat, 
for  this  time,  under  the  leadership  of  another  of 
his  admirers,  an  effort  was  made  to  reduce  the  sal- 
ary of  the  Bishop  to  be  elected  from  fifteen  thou- 
sand dollars  to  seven  thousand  five  hundred  dollars 
a  year.  The  motion  was  fiercely  debated,  but  was 
lost.  By  the  time  this  business  was  over  the  tellers 
returned  to  the  church  and  made  their  report. 
The  Convention  subsided  as  soon  as  the  deputies 
observed  the  two  men  who  had  counted  the  votes 
coming  down  the  aisle. 

"  Gentlemen,"  asked  the  chairman,  "  have  you 
counted  the  ballots?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Have  you  the  result  in  writing?" 


246          THE   BETTER   MAN 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  You  will  hand  the  document  to  the  Secretary 
of  the  Convention,  who  will  read  to  the  Conven- 
tion." 

A  little  murmur  of  expectancy  ran  through  the 
church. 

"  The  house  will  please  come  to  order  and  keep 
silent.  No  demonstration  of  any  sort  will  be 
allowed.  This  rule  must  be  observed,"  said  the 
chair  firmly. 

The  Secretary  received  the  report  from  the 
tellers,  rose,  bowed  to  the  chair,  and  read  the 
results. 

"  The  Rev.  Mr.  Barmore,"  he  said  in  a  deep, 
powerful  voice,  which  easily  filled  the  great 
church,  "  has  received  one  hundred  and  fifty-five 
votes.  The  Rev.  Mark  Stebbing  has  received 
one  hundred  and  forty-nine  votes.  The  fol- 
lowing gentlemen  have  received  one  vote  apiece." 
He  read  off  ten  names. 

"  What  is  the  total  number  of  votes  in  the  Con- 
vention, Mr.  Secretary?"  asked  the  presiding 
officer. 


THE   CHOICE   IS   NOT   YET    247 

"  Three  hundred  and  fourteen,  sir." 

"  And  of  that  number  one  hundred  and  fifty- 
eight  are  necessary  to  a  choice?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Gentlemen,  there  has  been  no  election.  The 
clerical  members  of  the  Convention  will  prepare 
their  votes  for  a  second  ballot." 

The  house  broke  into  an  uproar. 

In  the  midst  of  it  a  man  forced  his  way  past 
the  doorkeeper,  who  sought  in  vain  to  detain  him, 
and  walked  rapidly  up  the  aisle  to  where  Stebbing 
sat  with  the  deputies  from  St.  Osmund's.  The 
principal  member  of  St.  Osmund's  delegation  was 
Penrod,  who  happened  at  the  moment  to  be  busy 
in  some  other  part  of  the  building.  The  man 
who  had  entered  was  a  young  member  of  St. 
Osmund's  Church,  who  had  been  told  to  watch 
the  progress  of  the  strike  and  let  Stebbing  know 
if  anything  unusual  occurred.  When  Stebbing 
saw  him  he  rose  to  his  feet.  There  was  that  in 
the  young  man's  looks  which  indicated  the  gravity 
of  his  tidings. 

"  The  soldiers  are  out,"  he  said.      "  They  are 


248          THE   BETTER   MAN 

assembling  at  the  armories.  I  heard  orders  given 
to  take  ball  cartridges,  and  their  cartridge  belts 
are  filled  with  ammunition.  The  Governor  has 
ordered  the  National  Guard  to  co-operate  with  the 
police,  and  the  first  brigade  is  marching  on  the 
City  Hall  Square.  I  have  been  in  telephone  com- 
munication with  another  of  our  Brotherhood  of 
St.  Andrew,  and  he  says  that  they  have  over- 
turned half  a  dozen  cars  there.  The  police  are 
surrounded  by  thousands  of  men,  all  armed,  and 
every  slum  in  the  city  has  disgorged  itself  of  all 
its  thieves  and  blackguards  into  the  City  Hall 
Park.  It  is  jammed  and  packed  with  a  mob. 
They  are  burning  cars,  and  are  in  complete  pos- 
session. There  will  be  trouble  when  the  troops 
arrive." 

Stebbing  hesitated  but  a  moment. 

"  I  am  wanted  more  there  than  here,"  he  said 
finally.  He  turned  to  Carpenter,  one  of  his  dele- 
gates. "Tell  Penrod,"  he  continued,  "that  the 
troops  are  out,  and  that  I  am  going  down  to  the 
City  Hall  to  see  what  I  can  do  to  prevent  blood- 
shed." 


THE   CHOICE   IS  NOT  YET   249 

He  turned,  walked  rapidly  down  the  aisle,  and 
left  the  building.  By  an  odd  coincidence  it  so 
happened  that  Miss  Margaret  Wharton,  who  had 
been  a  spectator  of  all  that  had  occurred  from 
the  gallery,  had  at  this  moment  also  descended 
the  stairs.  Stebbing  and  the  young  woman  met 
face  to  face  on  the  broad,  paved  terrace,  upon 
which  St.  Hilda's  was  elevated  some  ten  or  a 
dozen  steps  above  the  level  of  the  street.  Steb- 
bing, as  he  saw  her,  took  off  his  hat. 

"  Miss  Wharton "  he  began. 

"  Under  what  pretext  do  you  speak  to  me  this 
time,  Mr.  Stebbing?" 

"The  same  affair.  I  am  informed  that 
the  troops  are  ordered  out.  The  first  bri- 
gade is  already  marching  to  the  City  Hall 
Square." 

"  I  was  afraid  it  would  come  to  that,"  said  the 
girl,  turning  a  little  pale. 

"  I  asked  your  help  before.  I  want  it  now. 
Your  car  is  out  here,  isn't  it?  " 

11  Yes." 

"Were  you  going  away?" 


25o          THE  BETTER  MAN 

"Only  for  a  few  minutes.  I  intended  to 
be  back  to  hear  the  result  of  the  second 
ballot." 

"  Send  me  down  to  the  City  Hall  in  that  car. 
There  is  no  other  way  I  can  get  there  so  quickly. 
I  think  I  can  do  something  with  the  men.  I 
think  I  can  persuade  them  to  disperse." 

"  It  is  a  queer  situation  to  use  my  father's  car 
to  help  the  strikers  against  my  father." 

"  Good  Heavens,  Miss  Wharton,"  he  cried,  "  it 
isn't  to  help  anybody  against  anybody  else,  but 
to  prevent  bloodshed  and  murder.  That's  what 
will  happen  if  the  troops  fire  upon  the  strikers. 
They  must  be  stopped  at  all  hazards." 

"  Take  the  car,"  said  the  girl. 

She  started  down  the  steps  as  she  spoke,  Steb- 
bing  by  her  side.  She  quickened  her  pace,  until 
it  became  what  would  have  been  an  undignified 
run,  if  anyone  had  marked  it,  or  she  had  cared, 
or  even  thought  of  it. 

"  Hawkins,"  she  said  to  the  chauffeur,  "  take 
Mr.  Stebbing  down  to  the  City  Hall  Park  as  fast 
as  you  can.  Never  mind  the  speed  limit.  It  is 


THE   CHOICE   IS  NOT  YET    251 

a  case  of  life  or  death.  Will  you  get  into  the 
tonneau,  Mr.  Stebbing?  " 

"  No.  I'll  ride  with  the  chauffeur.  Good-by. 
God  bless  you !  "  He  lifted  his  hat,  and  climbed 
to  his  seat  by  the  driver,  and  waited  nervously 
while  Hawkins  cranked  the  engine. 

"  Did  it  ever  occur  to  you  that  you  are  impair- 
ing your  chances  of  the  election  by  absenting  your- 
self now?  "  she  asked  him,  her  hand  on  the  door 
of  the  tonneau. 

"It  never  did,"  he  answered.  "Whether  it 
does  or  not,  I  have  no  option,  and  anyway,  I 
don't  care.  My  place  is  not  here,"  he  pointed 
up  at  the  noble  fane  of  St.  Hilda's.  "  It  is  always 
there," — he  swept  his  arm  southward — "  with  the 
people,  wherever  they  are  in  trouble  or  in  need." 

By  this  time  the  motor  was  started,  and  Haw- 
kins ran  back  and  climbed  into  his  seat.  Before 
he  could  start  the  car,  the  woman  opened  the  door 
of  the  tonneau  and  sprang  inside. 

"  Are  you  going?  "  cried  Stebbing  in  great  sur- 
prise. 

"  Certainly  I  am." 


252          THE   BETTER   MAN 

"  I  cannot  permit " 

"  This  is  my  car.     Start  the  motor,  Hawkins." 

"  Yes,  miss,"  said  the  man,  and  instantly  the 
great  car  sprang  into  life  with  a  jump  and  went 
tearing  over  the  streets  at  a  terrific  pace,  which 
only  the  excellent  motormanship  of  the  chauffeur 
kept  from  inflicting  death  and  disaster  upon  the 
people  and  vehicles  in  the  street,  and  the  passen- 
gers in  the  car  as  well.  Conversation  was  im- 
possible, except  when  some  imperative  necessity 
forced  Hawkins  to  slow  down.  At  every  interval 
of  that  kind,  Stebbing  besought  the  woman  to  go 
back.  She  silenced  him  absolutely.  He  threat- 
ened to  leave  the  car. 

"  If  you  do,"  said  the  girl,  "  I  will  go  on 
alone." 

"  Promise  me,"  he  cried  at  the  next  interval, 
"  that  you  won't  try  to  enter  the  square." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  I  will  promise  nothing." 

11  Hawkins,"  said  Stebbing  in  the  driver's  ear, 
"  it  is  as  much  as  her  life  is  worth  and  yours,  too, 
to  take  Miss  Wharton  into  the  square." 


THE   CHOICE   IS   NOT  YET   253 

"  I  will  remain  safely  outside,  sir,"  said  the 
chauffeur,  who  knew  the  danger  far  better  than 
the  woman. 

As  for  her,  a  wild  exhilaration  filled  her  heart. 
She  was  leaving  the  ecclesiastical  politics  of  the 
Diocesan  Convention,  exciting  as  they  had  seemed 
to  her  a  few  moments  since,  and  was  rushing 
through  space  at  a  terrific  speed  with  a  man  who 
could  do  things,  and  who  was  striving  to  help 
humanity.  It  was  like  a  cavalry  charge,  a  bold 
dash  against  an  enemy. 

If  she  had  foreseen  what  was  going  to  happen 
her  feelings  and  emotions  would  have  been  entirely 
different,  but  she  had  no  idea  that  she  was  taking 
Stebbing  to  almost  certain  death;  for  he,  at  least, 
knew  that  it  would  be  safer  to  face  a  den  of  lions 
than  to  confront  the  maddened  mob.  If  it  had 
only  been  the  Traction  employees — he  knew  every 
man,  and  they  all  loved  the  young  minister — it 
would  have  been  different,  but  every  blackguard, 
every  thief,  every  thug,  every  unprisoned  scoun- 
drel in  the  city  was  there,  stimulating  the  passions 
of  the  strikers. 


254          THE   BETTER   MAN 

So  long  as  she  lived  Margaret  Wharton  never 
forgot  that  ride.  The  drivers  of  other  motors 
turned  to  curse  them;  women,  children,  and  pass- 
ersby  screamed  angry  maledictions  after  them; 
officers  of  the  law  gave  chase  on  their  motor-cycles, 
but  had  to  drop  behind.  It  was  only  the  skill 
of  Hawkins  that  prevented  them  from  injuring 
and  being  injured.  The  mob  which  had  over- 
flowed from  the  City  Hall  Plaza  into  the  side 
streets  at  last  forced  them  to  bring  the  machine 
to  a  stop.  The  chauffeur  had  stopped  on  the 
brow  of  a  little  hill  on  a  street  that  ran  directly 
into  the  plaza.  From  this  hill  Margaret  Whar- 
ton, sitting  in  the  car,  had  a  good  view  of  all  that 
happened  in  the  square. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  COURAGE  IN  THE  STREET 

THE  spacious  City  Hall  Square  was  jammed  with 
people.  Bonfires  of  overturned  cars  were  burning 
here  and  there.  Small  groups  of  policemen  were 
gathered  around  the  overturned  cars,  and  a  larger 
squad  of  them  was  stationed  on  the  steps  of  the 
City  Hall.  Every  officer  in  the  city  was  on  duty, 
but  every  car-line  and  car-barn  had  to  be  guarded, 
and  there  were  not  nearly  enough  men  for  the 
work. 

A  dull,  vicious,  long-continued,  ominous  roar 
rose  from  the  seething  mass  of  people  in  the 
square.  The  Mayor  stood  on  the  steps  of  the 
City  Hall,  trying  in  vain  to  talk  to  the  mob.  His 
head  was  bare  and  the  wind  blew  his  white  hair 
around  his  shoulders.  Thousands  were  shouting 
at  him,  hands  extended,  clenching  weapons;  a  few 
had  Winchesters,  others  heavy  revolvers  of  the 
army  and  navy  pattern,  and  cheaper  weapons,  suffi- 
255 


256          THE   BETTER   MAN 

ciently  murderous,  however,  at  close  range;  here 
and  there  the  afternoon  sunlight  was  reflected 
from  a  knife-blade.  There  were  enough  police- 
men, perhaps,  to  have  made  some  sort  of  stand 
against  the  mob,  but  it  could  only  have  been  done 
by  the  free  use  of  firearms,  the  time  for  the  club 
was  past.  The  Mayor,  a  humane  man,  too  hu- 
mane, perhaps,  did  not  desire  to  employ  force 
until  as  a  last  resort.  He  hoped  that  the  advent 
of  the  troops  would  overawe  the  strikers  and 
the  mob  and  cause  them  to  disperse  without  blood- 
shed. 

All  this  was  quite  plain  to  Margaret  Wharton. 
For  a  few  minutes  she  watched  Stebbing — big, 
broad-shouldered,  good-natured,  forcing  his  way 
through  the  crowd,  toward  the  open  space  which 
the  police  kept  with  difficulty,  directly  in  front 
of  the  Mayor  on  the  steps. 

It  would  have  been  absolutely  impossible  for 
any  other  man  to  have  forced  his  way  through 
that  crowd  except  Stebbing,  for  he  was  known  to 
a  great  number  of  the  people  there,  as  he  was 
perhaps  the  most  familiar  figure  in  that  section 


COURAGE   IN  THE   STREET  257 

of  the  city  whence  the  mob  had  recruited.  Where 
he  was  known  he  was  liked.  There  were  enough 
decent  people  in  the  multitude  to  heed  his  request 
for  passage  and  to  see  that  he  got  it. 

He  was  soon  lost  in  the  crowd,  and  although 
the  woman's  eyes  sought  eagerly  for  him,  she  could 
not  find  him.  She  thought  she  could  mark  his 
progress  by  little  eddies  and  ripples  here  and  there 
among  the  dense  numbers  packed  so  tightly  to- 
gether, but  she  was  not  sure.  It  was  all  guess- 
work. 

Her  heart  went  out  to  him,  went  with  him. 
Why  had  he  left  her  so  abruptly  when  the  car 
came  to  a  final  stop?  Why  had  he  not  said  a 
word  of  farewell  before  he  broke  away  from  her? 
Why  had  he  not  given  her  a  chance  to  say  some- 
thing to  him?  One  look  into  her  eyes  would 
have  enlightened  him.  She  wished  she  had  thrown 
reserve  to  the  winds  and  had  told  him  what 
was  in  her  heart  ere  he  adventured  into  such 
a  scene  of  terror  and  danger.  And  now  it 
was  too  late!  She  could  no  longer  even  see 
him! 


258  THE   BETTER   MAN 

At  this  juncture  her  attention  for  a  moment  was 
attracted  by  the  rattle  of  drums  up  the  broad 
thoroughfare,  which  led  to  the  City  Hall,  a  block 
to  her  left.  The  cross  street  gave  her  a  view. 
As  she  looked  in  the  direction  whence  the  sound 
came  she  saw  soldiers  coming  down  the  street. 
Three  regiments  had  been  called  out.  The  Briga- 
dier in  command  rode  with  his  staff  on  the  right 
flank  of  the  first  battalion.  He  had  just  enough 
space  on  the  sidewalk  for  his  nervous  horse,  which 
crowded  the  people  back  with  ruthless  indifference. 
The  drum  and  the  bugle  corps  had  been  at  the 
head  of  the  first  regiment,  but  in  obedience  to  a 
command  from  the  Colonel,  who  rode  on  the  other 
flank  on  the  sidewalk,  the  buglers  and  the  drum- 
mers defiled  to  the  left  and  took  a  position  at 
the  end  of  the  street  where  it  opened  on  the 
square.  The  men  were  in  Khaki  uniforms.  They 
were  carrying  their  guns  at  an  "  Arms  Port,"  and 
were  marching  with  a  steady  and  disciplined  step. 
Well-trained,  well-officered,  they  certainly  meant 
business.  Every  gun  was  tipped  with  a  bright 
bayonet,  and  the  sunlight  ran  up  and  down  the 


COURAGE   IN  THE   STREET,  259 

slow-moving  lines  of  polished  steel  as  the  men 
marched  steadily  on. 

As  they  passed  the  cross  street  they  were  hidden 
from  her  view  by  intervening  buildings,  but  in  a 
moment  or  two  the  head  of  the  column  entered  the 
square.  A  vast  multitude  of  men  and  boys  con- 
stantly increasing,  as  a  slow-moving  glacier  in  its 
advance  piles  up  before  it  a  tremendous  moraine, 
was  swept  along  in  front  of  the  column. 

The  main  pressure  of  the  mob  was  off  to  the 
left  of  the  column,  directly  in  front  of  the  City 
Hall,  where  the  Mayor  stood,  so  that  there  was, 
comparatively  speaking,  a  passage  for  the  troops 
for  a  short  distance  at  least.  But  the  great  square 
was  already  sufficiently  crowded  when  the  soldiers 
entered  it,  bringing  with  them  that  new  stream  of 
humanity,  that  influx  from  the  side  streets,  which 
had  been  pushed  ahead  of  the  brigade.  Now  it 
seemed  to  the  watching  woman  to  become  solidly 
packed  with  people  in  every  direction. 

The  rolling  of  the  drums  and  the  clamor  of 
the  bugles,  tremendous  as  was  the  noise,  since  each 
regiment  had  added  its  own  corps  of  drummers 


26o          THE   BETTER   MAN 

and  buglers  to  the  first  detachment,  was  quickly 
drowned  by  the  terrific  and  savage  yells  of  the 
mob,  which  had  heard  that  the  soldiers  were  com- 
ing, but  had  just  seen  them  for  the  first  time. 

The  Brigadier-General  in  command  wasted  no 
time.  By  this  time  the  head  of  the  column  had 
so  far  passed  the  intervening  buildings  that  Mar- 
garet Wharton  could  see  everything  as  on  an  im- 
mense stage.  The  soldiers  of  the  first  regiment 
suddenly  and  rapidly  formed  into  long  ranks,  in 
a  column  of  masses,  the  other  regiments  following 
their  maneuvers  as  they  debouched  into  the  square. 

The  General  raised  his  sword  for  silence.  He 
seemed  to  get  it.  Although  the  noise  further 
away  from  the  soldiers  was  as  loud  as  ever,  ap- 
parently he  was  able  to  make  himself  heard,  for 
the  woman  saw  the  crowd  with  slow,  tortuous,  and 
agonizing  heavings  strain  apart  under  the  tremen- 
dous pressure  of  the  head  of  the  heavily  massed 
columns.  The  soldiers,  as  the  crowd  began  to 
break,  moved  slowly  forward,  pricking  with  their 
bayonets  the  tardy,  until  by  and  by  they  had 
opened  a  broad  lane  down  which  they  resolutely 


COURAGE   IN  THE   STREET  261 

marched  in  obedience  to  command.  Arriving  at 
the  open  space  at  the  foot  of  the  steps,  the  alter- 
nate lines  marched  to  the  right  and  the  left,  so 
that  they  formed  a  kind  of  a  hollow  square,  fac- 
ing the  mob  in  every  direction.  Yet  it  was  only 
the  most  stubborn  resolution  on  the  part  of  the 
soldiers  that  kept  back  the  crowd,  the  front  ranks 
of  which  every  moment  were  in  danger  of  being 
pushed  on  to  the  protended  bayonets  of  the  troops 
by  the  surging  multitude  behind  them. 

When  the  whole  brigade  had  arrived  before  the 
City  Hall,  where  the  police  had  kept  that  little 
space,  the  already  existing  lines  were  re-enforced 
by  others,  until  the  Mayor  and  the  officials  were 
surrounded  by  a  solid  wall  of  men  and  steel.  One 
battalion  was  ordered  up  on  the  porch  of  the  build- 
ing, another  lined  the  steps,  and  one  marched  in- 
side the  building  itself,  up  the  stairs,  and  soon 
filled  every  window  with  bristling  bayonets  and 
murderous  rifles.  The  City  Hall  had  suddenly 
been  transformed  into  an  arsenal.  The  Brigadier- 
General,  having  coolly  made  these  dispositions, 
rapidly  and  with  exquisite  skill  and  precision  amid 


262          THE  BETTER  MAN 

the  evil  howling  of  the  mob,  waited  until  all  was 
settled,  and  then  he  reported  to  the  Mayor. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Mayor,"  he  said,  "  you  have  but 
to  give  the  word  and  we'll  clear  the  plaza." 

The  Mayor  stepped  to  one  of  the  projecting 
porticos  of  the  City  Hall.  The  soldiers  made  a 
way  for  him,  and  he  stood  there,  a  tall,  impressive 
figure,  black-coated,  with  a  striking  background  of 
dull  olive-drab  uniforms  among  which  the  flags  and 
regimental  banners  made  bright  spots  of  color. 

"  Men,"  he  said,  as  soon  as  he  could  get  silence, 
"  fellow-citizens,  I  have  warned  you  what  would 
happen.  The  Governor,  at  my  request,  has  or- 
dered out  the  National  Guard.  I  have  but  to 
give  the  word  and  you  will  be  shot  to  pieces.  You 
must  disperse  and  go  to  your  homes  at  once.  I 
am  reluctant  to  inaugurate  a  scene  of  bloodshed 
by  giving  the  order  to  fire,  but  I  must  do  it  unless 
you  instantly  disperse.  The  honor  of  the  city  must 
be  preserved,  order  must  be  established.  The  law 
must  be  upheld,  and " 

"  To  Hell  with  the  National  Guard,"  roared 
out  a  burly  leader  of  the  mob. 


COURAGE   IN  THE   STREET  263 

"Will  you  right  our  wrongs?"  cried  another. 

"  Will  you  make  the  Traction  Company  give  us 
our  just  dues?  "  yelled  a  third. 

Instantly  the  mass  was  a  seething  tumult.  The 
air  was  filled  with  maledictions  and  curses  above 
which  the  leaders  could  be  heard  crying: 

"What  do  we  care  for  the  National  Guard?  " 

"They  are  nothin'  but  tin  soldiers  anyway; 
down  with  'em!" 

"  We're  goin'  to  have  our  rights  I  " 

"  It  is  the  people's  cause  I  " 

The  Brigadier,  without  waiting  for  the  Mayor, 
suddenly  roared  out  some  command.  It  was  re- 
peated swiftly  from  regiment  to  regiment,  from 
company  to  company,  from  rank  to  rank.  Guns 
were  raised,  butts  pressed  against  human  shoulders, 
but  the  mob  leaders  perceived  that  the  elevation 
was  such  that  even  if  the  soldiers  fired  their  guns 
the  people  in  the  square  would  not  be  harmed. 

"Keep  fast!"  they  cried;  "they  are  only 
bluffing!" 

The  General  lifted  his  sword  and  shouted  a 
command.  The  heavens  were  rent  with  a  dis- 


264          ~HE   BETTER   MAN 

charge  from  two  thousand  rifles.  By  previous 
direction  the  men  aimed  in  the  air.  It  was  ap- 
parent that  blank  cartridges  had  been  used.  A 
roar  of  derision  burst  from  the  people  in  the 
square  as  they  perceived  the  tactics  of  the  soldiers, 
and  they  observed  that  no  one  was  hurt.  They 
were  too  mad  to  be  frightened  with  sound.  Some- 
thing more  serious  was  required.  Well,  they 
would  get  it  in  short  order,  and  in  full  measure. 
In  the  tumult  the  old  General  could  be  heard  roar- 
ing out  an  ominous  command: 

"  With  ball  cartridges,  load!" 

"  Now  is  the  time  to  rush  them,"  said  the  leader 
of  the  mob,  "  before  they  can  get  the  bullets  in 
their  guns.  Come  on,  men !  " 

The  man  clenched  in  one  hand  a  heavy  Colt's 
revolver,  which  he  pointed  directly  at  the  General. 
At  this  critical  instant,  Stebbing,  hatless,  his  cloth- 
ing torn,  his  face  pale  and  sweat-covered,  broke 
through  the  last  rank  of  men  and  soldiers  and 
staggered  into  the  narrow  way  which  separated 
the  people  from  the  troops,  who  were  now  ready 
for  another  volley. 


COURAGE  IN  THE   STREET  265 

"For  God's  sake,  General  Good!"  he  cried; 
"  for  the  love  of  Heaven,  Mr.  Mayor,  give  me 
one  chance  with  these  men;  don't  fire  on  them; 
think  what  will  happen !  " 

General  Good  looked  toward  the  Mayor.  The 
latter  nodded.  Both  gentlemen  knew  Stebbing 
personally,  and  they  both  knew  that  no  man  could 
have  more  influence  than  he  with  the  men.  The 
leader  of  the  strikers,  a  big  Irishman  named 
Clancy,  who  was  well-known  to  Stebbing,  eyed 
him  for  a  moment,  and  then,  with  a  backward 
sweep  of  his  revolver,  commanded  silence. 

"We'll  give  you  five  minutes,  Mr.  Stebbing," 
he  roared.  "Give  the  minister  a  chance,  men; 
he  is  your  friend,"  he  cried.  "  Talk  straight  and 
talk  sharp,  now,  Mr.  Stebbing,"  he  added  as  the 
murmurs  rapidly  died  away,  as  the  commands  of 
Clancy  were  transmitted  throughout  the  mob. 

While  this  transaction  had  taken  place,  the  sol- 
diers and  the  mob  both  got  ready  to  fire.  As  has 
been  said,  most  of  the  mob  were  armed  with 
revolvers,  while  some  few  of  them  had  rifles  or 
shotguns.  In  addition  to  their  firearms  every 


266          THE   BETTER  MAN 

striker  had  a  paving-stone  or  a  piece  of  iron,  a 
knife  or  a  hatchet,  or  some  other  weapon  or  missile. 
The  strikers  and  others  there  did  not  believe  that 
the  soldiers  would  fire  on  them.  They  cherished 
that  contempt  felt  by  many  of  the  most  ignorant 
workingmen  for  members  of  the  National  Guard. 
They  were  counting,  however,  without  old  General 
Good,  who  would  have  had  no  compunction  what- 
ever in  firing  on  anybody  or  on  anything  if  it  were 
his  duty  so  to  do. 

For  the  rest  it  was  easier  to  handle  a  revolver 
than  a  rifle,  and  the  former  did  just  as  much  dam- 
age at  close  range  as  the  latter,  if  it  were  fired 
quick  enough,  so  that  the  conditions  were  by  no 
means  heavy  against  the  mob,  as  might  be  fancied. 

The  faces  of  the  young  soldiers,  boys  for  the 
most  part,  were  very  pale.  They  were  confront- 
ing a  realization  of  war  in  a  way  they  had  scarcely 
imagined  heretofore,  but  there  was  not  a  coward 
among  them.  Their  jaws  were  set,  and  the  hands 
which  held  the  guns  did  not  tremble.  There  was 
good  American  stuff  in  them,  ready  for  proving 
in  this  or  any  other  emergency.  The  red-faced, 


COURAGE   IN   THE   STREET  267 

white-mustached  old  General  had  been  under  fire 
many  times  in  two  wars,  and  he  was  proud  of  them 
where  he  sat  his  great  white  horse. 

He  realized  that,  should  action  begin,  he  would 
be  made  the  target  of  a  hundred  weapons,  that 
whatever  else  happened  he  would  probably  be  shot 
from  his  horse  at  the  first  discharge,  but  neither 
his  hand  nor  his  voice  trembled  on  that  account. 
He  showed  not  the  least  sign  of  perturbation.  The 
officers  and  soldiers,  seeing  him  sitting  there  so 
cool  and  imperious,  so  entirely  master  of  himself 
:and  his  men,  took  new  courage  from  the  dauntless 
spectacle. 

Urged  by  Clancy  and  some  self-constituted  as- 
sistants, the  men  had  crowded  back  until  perhaps 
fifty  feet  intervened  between  the.  front  rank  of 
the  mob  and  the  front  rank  of  the  soldiers.  Be- 
tween the  two  was  a  low  pedestal,  designed  to 
carry  an  ornamental  electric  street  lamp.  It  had 
just  been  completed,  and  the  lamp  was  not  yet  in 
position.  It  afforded  Stebbing  a  convenient  pulpit 
whence  to  deliver  his  appeal.  He  ran  toward 
it,  leaped  upon  it,  and  found  himself  elevated  a 


268          THE   BETTER  MAN 

foot  and  a  half  perhaps  above  the  mob  in  front 
of  him  and  the  soldiers  behind  him. 

The  woman  in  the  motor-car,  which  had  been  in 
the  outskirts,  but  which  was  now  the  center  of  an 
increasing  multitude  of  people,  all  so  intent  upon 
what  was  happening  in  the  square,  that,  fortunately 
for  her,  they  paid  little  attention  to  her,  could 
see  Stebbing  plainly.  Her  heart  thrilled  at  the 
sight  of  that  solitary  figure.  She  wished  that  she 
were  by  his  side ;  she  wished  that  she  might  hear  the 
burning  words  which  she  knew  must  be  pouring 
from  his  lips.  She  strained  her  ears  in  vain  to 
listen. 

"  Men  and  brethren,"  began  Stebbing,  "  you 
know  me,  you  know  I  am  your  friend ;  I  live  among 
you,  I  work  for  you,  I  share  your  poverty.  I  am 
in  all  respects  one  of  you.  I  labor  with  my  hands 
as  you  do.  My  sympathies,  my  affections  are 
yours.  I  have  devoted  my  life  to  you ;  I  have  your 
interest  at  heart.  I  am  not  allied  with  any  repre- 
sentative of  the  Traction  Company;  I  have 
no  axes  to  grind,  nothing  to  serve  but  your 
interests." 


COURAGE   IN  THE   STREET  269 

"That's  so,"  roared  big  Clancy;  "we  believe 
you're  a  true  man — another  like  the  Christ  you 
serve — you're  the  workingman's  friend." 

"I  hope  so;  I  know  so,"  Stebbing  went  on. 
"  Now,  I  say  to  you,  you  are  in  grave  danger. 
I  know  you  are  brave  men,  and  you  do  not  care 
what  happens  to  you,  that  you  are  perfectly  willing 
to  lay  down  your  lives  in  a  good  cause,  but  you 
have  wives  and  children  at  home»  who  need  you. 
Whatever  comes  of  this  strike,  they  are  going  to 
need  you  more  than  ever;  they  will  be  hungry 
and  naked  and  homeless  without  you.  If  you  do 
not  disperse  the  troops  will  have  to  fire  on  you. 
There  is  something  greater  than  any  of  us  that 
has  to  be  upheld — the  law." 

"  To  Hell  with  the  law  I  "  cried  a  voice  on  the 
outskirts. 

Stebbing  saw  a  flash  of  crimson  as  somebody 
waved  a  red  flag  of  anarchy  above  the  heads  of 
the  multitude.  It  gave  a  bloody  dash  of  color 
over  the  gray-clad,  white-faced  men  in  the  after- 
noon sunlight. 

"  We  cannot  stand  for  that  sentiment  here.     I 


27o          THE  BETTER  MAN 

appeal  to  the  men,  the  American  workmen,  who 
are  my  friends,  and  the  friends  of  the  law.  The 
Mayor  here  will  do  his  best  to  get  you  justice.  I 
will  add  my  own  efforts.  I  will  labor  for  you. 
I  am  willing  to  die  for  you.  For  God's  sake,  if 
you  will  only  go  home!  Half  of  this  mob  is 
composed  of  thieves  and  murderers  and  black- 
guards and  God  knows  who  else.  I  call  upon 
the  decent  men  to  show  that  they  control  the  situa- 
tion. I  call  upon  them  to  disperse,  to  go  home, 
to  make  others  go  home,  so  that  there  will  be  no 
bloodshed.  The  law  must  be  upheld.  The 
honor  of  the  city,  the  manhood  of  the  people,  the 
welfare  of  the  home,  demand  this." 

There  was  a  large  section  of  the  crowd  that 
had  been  with  difficulty  kept  still  during  Stebbing's 
fervent  appeal.  His  great  voice  filled  the  square  so 
that  every  word  that  he  said  was  audible  for  a 
long  distance.  There  were  men  there  who  de- 
served the  scoring  he  had  given  them;  some  for 
the  selfish  motives  of  plundering,  some  lusting  to 
see  murder  done  and  blood  shed,  who  were  willing 
to  take  the  risk  that  some  of  it  might  be  from 


COURAGE   IN   THE   STREET  271 

their  own  veins;  some  who  were  out-and-out  anar- 
chists, who  would  welcome  any  kind  of  an  oppor- 
tunity to  show  their  hatred  of  law  and  order. 
These  interrupted  the  speaking  man  with  cries 
from  here  and  there,  which  were  presently  taken 
up  by  others,  until  an  awful  outburst  of  passionate 
yelling  spread  over  the  whole  square.  Clancy, 
the  leader,  struggled  in  vain  to  quell  the  mob. 
Stebbing  stood  with  his  arms  outstretched — in  the 
form  of  a  cross,  thought  the  woman  in  the  car 
at  the  top  of  the  hill — pleading  with  all  his  heart 
and  soul  and  mind  and  strength,  and  in  vain. 
Men  no  longer  heard,  no  one  cared  to  listen,  ap- 
parently. 

At  that  moment  somebody  fired  a  pistol  into 
the  air.  As  if  it  had  been  a  signal,  in  an  instant 
the  open  space  was  filled  with  missiles.  An  iron 
bar  struck  Stebbing  on  the  shoulder.  He  stag- 
gered back  wildly.  A  heavy  bottle  broke  across 
his  chest,  a  stone  smote  him  fairly  in  the  breast, 
other  objects  beat  upon  his  head.  He  sank  to 
his  knees,  leaning  back  with  one  hand  outstretched, 
supporting  himself  desperately,  struggling  not  to 


2?2          THE   BETTER   MAN 

give  way.  Sustained  only  by  his  love,  his  courage, 
his  duty,  he  had  received  enough  blows  to  kill 
him,  yet  the  superhuman  resolution  of  the  man 
held  him  up,  and  he  kept  himself  just  for  a  mo- 
ment or  two  from  utter  collapse. 

The  woman  saw  the  rain  of  missiles  upon  him, 
saw  him  go  down.  Her  face  went  as  white  as 
death.  She  leaned  forward  and  shook  the  chauf- 
feur by  the  shoulder. 

"  Take  me  down  there,"  she  cried  in  agony  in- 
expressible, "  for  God's  sake,  take  me  down 
there!" 

"  I  can't  do  it,  Miss  Wharton,"  he  said;  "  it's 
impossible.  Look,  the  soldiers  are  about  to  fire; 
we  must  get  away?  " 

That,  too,  was  impossible.  The  car  was  sur- 
rounded. People  in  their  mad  excitement  to  see 
what  was  happening  had  clambered  up  on  the  run- 
ning boards  of  the  car,  one  had  even  taken  the 
seat  beside  the  chauffeur,  and  only  the  fact  that  it 
was  occupied  and  locked  kept  the  tonneau  from 
being  crowded.  The  woman  paid  no  attention  to 
them  whatever.  She  stood  staring  as  if  fascinated 


COURAGE   IN  THE   STREET  273 

at  the  spot  where  Stebbing  had  gone  down.  It 
was  as  Hawkins  said. 

The  missiles  had  some  of  them  been  badly 
aimed.  One  or  two  of  them  missed  Stebbing,  and 
here  and  there  a  soldier  sank  down  in  the  lines. 
The  General  rose  in  his  stirrups.  The  order  to 
fire  was  about  to  be  given,  when  Stebbing,  with  a 
last  nerve-racking,  superhuman  effort,  staggered  to 
his  feet  again.  He  would  have  fallen  had  it  not 
been  for  Clancy,  who  hurled  his  revolver  to  the 
ground  and  sprang  across  the  intervening  space 
and  caught  him  in  his  arms. 

"  You  damned  scoundrels,"  the  big  strike  leader 
roared,  as  he  held  the  almost  dying  man  to  his 
great  breast.  "  See  what  you  have  done.  Dis- 
perse, damn  ye!':  Go  to  your  kennels,  you 
dogs,  or  you'll  be  blown  to  hell,  where  you 
belong." 

But  now  Stebbing  took  up  the  tale.  Struggling 
to  free  himself,  he  turned  to  the  troops  and 
cried : 

"  For  God's  sake,  hold  your  fire !  " 

"  See,  they're  giving  back,"  cried  Clancy,  turn- 


274          THE   BETTER   MAN 
ing  to  the  soldiers;  "  I  call  upon  all  true  men  to 
come  to  the  rescue  of  this  man  we  have  stricken 
down,  and  help  drive  the  murderers  back." 

General  Good  hesitated,  with  the  command 
trembling  on  his  lips. 

"  Wait,"  cried  Stebbing  in  turn,  standing  once 
more  erect.  He  was  a  terrible  figure — grimy, 
shattered,  torn,  bloody,  sublime.  "  He  tells  the 
truth.  See,  they  are  giving  way!  "  he  cried  with 
terrible  power  and  emphasis  in  his  great  voice. 
He  lifted  his  hand  in  appeal.  The  men  watching, 
wondered  where  the  sudden  strength  came  from. 
"Go  back  for  your  lives,"  he  roared;  "disperse, 
for  God's  sake!" 

Stebbing  and  Clancy  had  decided  the  issue  at 
the  critical  moment.  The  sight  of  Clancy  their 
leader  supporting  Stebbing  their  friend  awakened 
the  decent  men  in  the  mob  to  the  enormity  of  their 
position,  the  terrible  nature  of  their  risk.  They 
turned  with  savage  fury  on  the  outlaw  elements 
and  drove  them  back.  The  crowd  began  to  dis- 
perse like  magic.  Panic  filled  the  souls  of  those 
nearest  the  soldiers.  Those  on  the  outskirts  caught 


COURAGE   IN  THE   STREET  275 

the  contagion.  Through  side  streets,  alleys,  and 
byways  they  streamed  away. 

At  a  command  fromGeneralGood  the  line  of  sol- 
diersmoved  forward,  and  with  fixed  bayonetspricked 
on  the  tardy  ones,  hastening  all  out  of  the  square. 
In  an  inconceivably  short  time  the  place  was  cleared 
of  its  former  mob  and  in  possession  of  the  soldiers. 
The  plaza  was  picketed,  and  no  one  was  allowed 
to  enter.  There  was  but  one  exception  to  that 
rule.  Miss  Wharton's  big  motor-car  had  moved 
forward  at  the  very  first  opportunity,  and  Hawkins 
had  recklessly  driven  it  through  the  crowd.  A 
hundred  times  the  woman's  life  was  threatened 
as  the  fleeing  mob  raced  by,  but  the  fear  of  death 
was  on  that  mob,  and  none  stayed  to  make  good 
his  threats. 

Almost  as  Stebbing  had  fallen  she  was  by  his 
side.  He  was  lying  on  the  ground,  supported  by 
Clancy.  The  regimental  surgeons  who  had  come 
with  the  troops  hurried  toward  him.  She  knelt 
down  beside  him  on  the  ground.  She  brushed 
the  blood  out  of  his  eyes  with  her  own  hands.  He 
looked  up  at  her,  but  without  a  sign  of  recognition. 


276          THE   BETTER   MAN 

He  was  saying  something.  The  square  was  full 
of  noise.  She  bent  her  head  close  to  his.  These 
were  the  words  that  fell  from  his  lips.  Words 
that  had  been  used  long  ago  by  another  man,  who 
had  fallen  under  the  stones  of  another  mob : 

"  Lord,"  he  said  faintly,  "  lay  not  this  sin  to 
their  charge." 

And,  as  she  bent  over  him,  grimy,  blood-stained, 
battered,  torn  though  he  was,  to  her  his  face,  like 
that  of  that  other  man  long  ago,  was  as  the  face 
of  an  angel  I 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  COURAGE  OF  CONFESSION 

IT  was  not  long  after  Stebbing's  hasty  departure 
before  Penrod  was  informed  by  Carpenter  that 
their  unwilling  candidate  had  gone  to  the  City 
Hall  in  the  hope  of  preventing  the  impending 
clash  between  the  soldiers  and  the  strikers.  For 
a  moment  the  withdrawal  of  Stebbing  had  looked 
like  a  desertion  from  the  field,  and  Penrod  was 
in  fear  of  a  panic  among  his  supporters.  It  had 
required  a  great  deal  of  moral  courage  for  some 
of  the  newer  and  younger  clergy  and  some  of  the 
lay  deputies  from  the  weaker  parishes  to  stand  up 
under  the  tremendous  influence  of  the  party  repre- 
sented by  General  Wharton,  which  had  been  carry- 
ing on  the  affairs  of  the  Diocese  for  many  years; 
but  Penrod  showed  himself  an  excellent  tactician, 
as  he  had  previously  demonstrated  that  he  was 
a  brilliant  strategist,  and  rallied  his  forces  by  caus- 
ing it  to  be  spread  unofficially  throughout  the 
277 


278          THE   BETTER   MAN 

church  that  Stebbing  was  so  far  indifferent  to  the 
office  which  his  friend  sought  to  bestow  upon  him, 
that  in  response  to  what  he  considered  a  higher  call, 
he  had  left  the  smaller  field  of  action  for  that 
greater  field  upon  which  the  battle  was  being 
waged,  with  bullets  and  not  with  ballots,  with 
force  and  not  with  influence.  The  big  mechanic 
had  associated  with  him  a  certain  small  body  of 
determined  men,  clergy  and  laity,  who  went  freely 
about  the  whole  place  declaring  the  facts  of  the 
case  in  this  critical  juncture  so  that  everybody  was 
aware  of  them. 

By  this  means  they  held  Stebbing's  vote,  and 
when  the  result  of  the  ballot  was  announced,  Bar- 
more  had  lost  one,  Stebbing's  vote  remained  the 
same,  and  there  were  the  usual  number  of  scat- 
tered votes,  resulting  as  before  in  no  election.  By 
this  time  it  was  somewhat  late  in  the  afternoon, 
and  Penrod  moved  that  the  election  be  postponed 
until  the  morrow  morning.  The  motion  was  op- 
posed by  General  Wharton,  who  felt  that  if  he 
could  force  a  third  ballot  then  and  there  the 
determination  of  Barmore's  supporters  would 


COURAGE   OF  CONFESSION  279 

finally  detach  from  the  absent  Stebbing  enough 
votes  to  insure  the  election  of  the  former. 

The  Convention  immediately  got  into  a  vigor- 
ous wrangle  in  the  midst  of  which  the  Bishop 
presiding  was  called  to  the  telephone.  He  de- 
clined to  leave  the  Convention,  and  it  was  only 
when  the  importance  of  the  message  was  explained 
to  him  that  he  asked  the  body  to  take  a  recess  for 
five  minutes  until  he  could  answer  the  demand  that 
was  made  upon  him. 

He  came  back  with  such  a  grave  face  that  the 
tumult  which  had  been  growing  as  the  debate  had 
progressed  and  the  tension  of  the  situation  had 
developed  was  immediately  stilled. 

"  Gentlemen  and  brethren,  members  of  the  Con- 
vention," said  the  Bishop,  "  I  have  received  news 
of  such  serious  import,  which  has  such  a  direct 
bearing  upon  the  prospective  or  possible  action  of 
the  Convention,  that  I  must  at  once  communicate 
it  to  you.  The  Rev.  Mr.  Stebbing,  whose  with- 
drawal from  the  Convention  some  of  you  marked 
with  surprise,  hastened  to  the  City  Hall  Plaza 
in  obedience  to  what  he  believed  a  call  to  duty, 


28o          THE   BETTER   MAN 

and  there,  endeavoring  to  mediate  between  the 
National  Guard  which  had  been  called  out  and 
the  strikers  who  were  assembled  there  in  great 
numbers,  he  was  assaulted  by  the  mob.  He  was 
beaten  down  under  a  shower  of  missiles,  and  is 
now  unconscious  and  in  a  dangerous  condition." 

"  Good  God !  "  cried  Penrod,  utterly  unmanned 
by  this  news.  "  The  fools,  they  have  done  for 
him,  and  he  was  the  best  man  in  the  city — their 
only  friend!  " 

"Order!  order!"  came  from  various  parts  of 
the  house. 

"  The  gentleman,"  said  the  Bishop,  "  who  has 
spoken  is  undoubtedly  out  of  order,  but  his  re- 
marks are  pardonable  when  we  realize  the  feeling 
which  he  entertains,  which  I  am  sure  we  all  enter- 
tain, for  Mr.  Stebbing.  I  commend  the  house 
to  prayer  for  the  safety  of  a  life,  so  bravely  offered 
and  so  precious  to  us  all." 

The  deep  silence  of  the  house  was  broken  only 
by  the  low  voice  of  the  Bishop  using  the  familiar 
prayers  which  were  felt  by  the  great  assembly  as 
perhaps  they  had  never  been  felt  before.  When 


COURAGE  OF  CONFESSION  281 

he  rose  to  his  feet,  Barmore,  Wharton,  and  Pen- 
rod,  with  numbers  of  others,  sought  for  recogni- 
tion. Penrod's  great  voice  broke  out : 

"  In  the  interest  of  fair  play,  hear  me,  Right 
Reverend  Sir." 

It  appeared  to  the  Bishop  that  Barmore  had 
risen  first  or  had  caught  his  eye. 

"  I  think,"  he  said  slowly,  "  that  my  eye  was 
first  caught  by  Mr.  Barmore." 

"  I  will  yield  the  floor,  sir,  to  Mr.  Penrod," 
said  Barmore,  who  was  very  pale,  very  composed, 
and  very  stern. 

"  Don't  yield  anything !  You  are  mad !  You 
are  making  a  mistake !  "  said  General  Wharton 
by  his  side,  but  Barmore  paid  no  attention. 

"  I  recognize  Mr.  Penrod,  therefore,"  said  the 
Bishop  presiding. 

"  Right  Reverend  Sir,"  began  Penrod,  his  voice 
choking  with  emotion,  "  Mr.  Stebbing  is  my 
friend;  I  love  him;  I  want  to  go  to  him.  There 
are  others  who  will  feel  the  same  way.  Surely 
we  are  not  in  condition  now  to  proceed  with  the 
election.  The  man  for  whom  some  of  us  have 


282          THE  BETTER   MAN 

voted  may  never  be  in  condition  to  enjoy  the  honor 
of  which  he  is  so  entirely  worthy,  and  which  he 
so  entirely  merits.  I  beg  again  to  offer  my  motion 
to  postpone  the  election  until  a  time  certain,  say 
ten  o'clock  to-morrow  morning,  and  to  adjourn  to 
that  hour." 

Old  General  Wharton  was  a  fighter.  He  did 
not  give  up  easily.  Although  things  appeared 
to  be  going  against  him,  he  was  still  confident  that 
another  ballot  would  result  in  the  election  of  Bar- 
more;  therefore,  he  was  on  his  feet  on  the  instant, 
and  without  waiting  for  recognition  he  burst 
out: 

"  Right  Reverend  Sir,  we  are  here  for  a  pur- 
pose, too  high  a  purpose  to  be  subject  to  the  feel- 
ings of  any  one  man  or  any  group  of  men.  I 
deplore  as  much  as  any  what  has  happened  to 
our  young  friend,  but " 

"  I  rise  to  a  point  of  order,  sir,"  cried  Barmore, 
doing  an  amazing  and  unprecedented  thing.  He 
was  not  doing  it  on  the  impulse  of  a  moment  either. 
Ever  since  the  balloting  had  been  going  on  his 
conscience  had  been  troubling  him  more  and  more, 


COURAGE  OF  CONFESSION  283 

and  the  completing  touch  had  been  put  by  the 
story  of  Stebbing's  gallant  and  heroic  endeavor. 

General  Wharton  looked  at  the  young  clergy- 
man in  astonishment. 

"  The  gentleman  will  state  his  point  of  order," 
said  the  Bishop. 

"  The  gentleman  whom  I  have  just  interrupted 
has  not  been  recognized  by  the  chair.  I  yielded 
the  floor  to  the  gentleman  who  moved  to 
adjourn;  therefore,  the  last  speaker  is  out  of 
order." 

"  The  point  of  order  is  well  taken,  sir,"  said 
the  Bishop,  who  was  afraid  of  nobody.  "  General 
Wharton  will  take  his  seat." 

The  General  glared  at  Barmore  for  a  moment 
and  sat  down  somewhat  ignominiously.  There 
was  nothing  else  he  could  do.  The  Bishop  pre- 
siding was  a  man  who  was  not  to  be  trifled  with. 
At  any  rate,  the  General  felt  that  his  efforts  had 
not  been  without  effect,  for  he  had  clearly  indicated 
his  wishes  to  his  followers. 

"  Now "  continued  Barmore. 

"  If  you  intend  to  discuss  this  matter,  Mr.  Bar- 


284          THE   BETTER   MAN 

more,"  said  the  Bishop,  "you  are  out  of  order. 
A  motion  to  adjourn  is  not  debatable." 

"  I  did  not  intend  to  discuss  the  motion  to 
adjourn,"  returned  Barmore.  "  For  that  matter, 
I  wish  to  second  it,  but  before  doing  so  I  wish 
to  beg  Mr.  Penrod  to  delay  his  motion  while  I 
ask  the  unanimous  consent  of  the  house  to  make  a 
statement." 

"  I  object,"  said  General  Wharton  sharply.  He 
did  not  know  to  what  quixotic  limit  his  candidate 
would  resort. 

"  The  chair  hears  an  objection,  and  therefore 
cannot  entertain  your  request." 

"  I  rise,  then,"  said  Barmore  quickly,  "  to  a 
question  of  personal  privilege." 

"Right  Reverend  Sir,"  said  the  General, 
rising  to  his  feet,  "  I  now  rise  to  a  point  of 
order." 

"  What  is  your  point  of  order,  sir?  " 

"  A  motion  to  adjourn  to  a  time  certain,  having 
been  duly  made  and  seconded  and  being  now  before 
the  house,  nothing  is  in  order  except  an  amend- 
ment to  change  the  time  certain." 


COURAGE   OF  CONFESSION  285 

"  The  chair  rules  that  when  a  member  desires 
to  address  the  house  on  a  question  of  personal 
privilege  he  is  in  order,  no  matter  what  is  before 
the  house." 

"  I  appeal,"  said  the  General,  "  from  the  deci- 
sion of  the  chair." 

"  General  Wharton,"  said  the  chair  bluntly, 
"  appeals  from  the  decision  of  the  chair,  which 
you  have  just  heard,  which  is  that  a  gentleman 
desiring  to  address  the  house  upon  a  matter  of 
personal  privilege  is  in  order  at  any  time.  Shall 
the  decision  of  the  chair  be  sustained?" 

The  Bishop  paused  a  moment,  the  center  of  this 
little  drama.  The  General  had  played  his  last 
card.  His  wishes  were  clearly  enough  indicated. 
Would  his  party  stand  by  him,  or  would  he  be 
defeated?  The  General,  reluctant  as  he  was  to 
admit  that  he  was  beaten  under  any  circum- 
stance, in  this  instance  almost  wished  that  he  might 
be,  so  outrageous  did  he  consider  the  conduct  of 
his  candidate. 

"  Those  in  favor  of  sustaining  the  decision  of 
the  chair  will  signify  it  by  saying  '  aye.'  " 


286          THE   BETTER   MAN 

A  thundering  roar  of  affirmation  burst  from  the 
great  mass  of  deputies. 

"  Those  opposed,  '  no.'  " 

There  was  an  outburst  of  noes,  but  they  were 
greatly  in  the  minority. 

"  The  ayes  have  it,"  said  the  Bishop,  "  the  deci- 
sion of  the  chair  is  sustained.  The  gentleman 
rises  to  a  question  of  personal  privilege.  He  has 
a  statement  to  make.  The  house  will  be  in  order 
and  listen  to  what  the  gentleman  has  to  say.  I 
feel  it  my  duty  to  warn  him  that  he  must  confine 
himself  strictly  to  a  question  of  personal  privilege, 
and  not  attempt,  under  cover  of  such  an  oppor- 
tunity, to  discuss  or  debate  any  question  which 
may  be  before  the  house." 

Amid  a  deep  silence  Barmore  began : 

"  I  thank  you,  Right  Reverend  Sir,  and  I  thank 
the  house  for  its  courtesy.  I  thank  General 
Wharton,  my  old  and  true  friend,  for  all  that 
he  has  done  for  me,  for  I  know  that  he  has  had 
an  eye  single  to  my  interest.  In  what  I  have  to 
say  I  will  confine  myself  strictly  to  the  personal 
question.  In  the  first  place,  I  have  a  confession 


COURAGE  OF  CONFESSION  287 

to  make.  My  delinquencies  would  not  greatly 
concern  this  distinguished  body  of  clergy  and  laity 
under  ordinary  circumstances,  but  a  large  number 
of  you  have  honored  me  with  your  suffrages  for 
the  great  office  of  Bishop.  I  feel  that  I  am  en- 
tirely unworthy  to  fill  that  office." 

At  this  juncture  General  Wharton  started  to  his 
feet.  Barmore  faced  him  swiftly. 

"  I  beg,  I  entreat,  that  no  one  interrupts  me 
now.  What  I  have  to  say  is  hard  enough,  and 
I  cannot  be  interrupted  with  the  saying  of  it." 

"  The  house  will  be  in  order,"  said  the  Bishop 
presiding.  "  The  gentleman  will  take  his  seat." 

"  When  I  say  that  I  am  unworthy  of  the  office, 
which  I  here  and  now  admit  with  shame  that  I 
sought,  I  am  not  speaking  conventionally,  but  I 
am  expressing  a  conviction  which  has  been  grow- 
ing in  my  heart,  against  which  I  have  been  fight- 
ing, but  which  has  only  come  to  me  finally  and 
definitely  in  the  last  few  minutes.  When  the 
matter  was  broached  to  me  after  the  death  of 
the  late  Bishop,  I  discouraged  it,  but  as  the  days 
sped  on,  and  what  may  be  called  the  campaign, 


288  THE   BETTER   MAN 

progressed,  I  encouraged  it.  I  wanted  to  be 
Bishop.  For  one  thing,  I  wanted  to  defeat  the 
candidacy  of  the  Rev.  Mark  Stebbing.  I  flat- 
tered my  conscience  by  trying  to  persuade  myself 
that  such  a  wish  sprang  entirely  from  a  considera- 
tion of  his  supposed  unfitness  for  that  office.  I 
admit  the  conceit  of  that  thought.  I  know  now 
that,  as  between  the  two  of  us,  he  is  the  fitter  per- 
son for  that  or  any  other  office  to  which  he  might 
be  called  and  chosen.  The  differences  between 
Mr.  Stebbing  and  myself  were  personal,  and  I 
am  sure  that  these  personal  differences  influenced 
me  more  than  any  other  considerations." 

"  You  are  mad !  you  are  mad !  "  cried  General 
Wharton  irrepressibly. 

"  No,"  said  Barmore  gravely,  "  for  the  first 
time  in  two  months  I  am  absolutely  sane." 

"  The  chair  must  insist  that  the  house  observe 
order,"  firmly  said  the  Bishop  presiding,  rapping 
on  the  desk  with  his  gavel. 

The  house  was  in  a  breathless  condition.  Mem- 
bers were  scarcely  less  white  and  agitated  than 
Barmore  himself.  The  latter  went  on,  speaking 


COURAGE   OF  CONFESSION  289 

in  his  clear,  even  voice,  which  carried  to  the  furthest 
corner  of  the  great  building.  It  was  the  tensest 
moment  that  had  ever  occurred  in  the  Diocese  or 
in  the  Church. 

"  When  this  strike  was  first  mooted  by  the  em- 
ployees my  sympathies  were  entirely  with  the  strik- 
ers. Afterward,  as  their  demands  were  increased, 
they  veered  to  the  side  of  the  company.  Mr. 
Stebbing  came  to  me  Saturday  morning  in  my 
study,  in  spite  of  the  enmity  and  antagonism 
that  existed  between  us — which,  I  must  say  for  my- 
self, were  not  without  some  justification,  if  there 
can  ever  be  justification  for  friction  and  strife  be- 
tween brethren.  So  far  as  I  am  concerned,  that 
enmity  is  buried  forever.  It  was  struck  down 
with  the  man  under  the  stones  of  the  mob.  I 
stand  here  to  acclaim  his  conduct,  his  character, 
and  his  courage." 

A  ripple  of  applause  began  among  the  people 
in  the  gallery  and  spread  quickly.  Only  the  thun- 
dering rapping  of  the  chairman  brought  the  house 
to  silence  and  a  realization  of  its  place. 

"  Saturday  morning,  as  I  said,  Mr.  Stebbing 


29o         .THE  BETTER  MAN 

called  on  me.  He  had  a  proposition  to  make. 
He  asked  me  to  use  my  influence  with  the  manage- 
ment of  the  Traction  Company  to  induce  it,  in  the 
interest  of  peace  and  harmony,  in  the  interest  of 
the  general  public,  in  the  interest  of  the  helpless 
wives  and  children  of  its  men,  to  arbitrate  with 
the  strikers  on  the  basis  of  the  original  demands, 
which  I  believed  then,  and  which  I  believe  now, 
are  just.  His  arguments  so  won  me  that  I  prom- 
ised to  preach  a  sermon  on  the  line  he  suggested. 
I  fully  intended  to  do  this,  gentlemen — I  am  keep- 
ing back  nothing,  you  see.  One  reason  why  I 
acceded  to  his  proposition  was  because  a  Satanic 
Tempter  persuaded  me  that  if  I  could  effect  this 
settlement  I  should  be  in  a  better  position  to  claim 
your  suffrages.  I  found  later  on  that  the  man- 
agement of  the  company  did  not  look  at  the  matter 
as  I  did.  I  quickly  perceived  that  if  I  attempted 
to  follow  out  the  course  that  Mr.  Stebbing  had 
mapped  out  for  me,  the  influence  which  was  so 
much  to  me,  and  which  furnished  the  backbone 
of  my  support  here,  would  be  withdrawn.  I  per- 
suaded myself  that  Stebbing  was  wrong.  I 


COURAGE  OF  CONFESSION  291 

preached  the  sermon  which  was  printed  in  the 
paper  yesterday  morning.  I  did  this  thing — may 
God  forgive  me,  I  never  can — that  I  might  be 
elected  Bishop." 

The  house  was  deathly  still. 

"  I  now  compare  my  self-seeking  conduct  with 
the  disinterested  conduct  of  my  nearest  com- 
petitor and  I  find  myself  unworthy  to  be  named 
in  the  same  breath  with  him.  We  shall  adjourn 
immediately,  to  meet  to-morrow  at  ten  o'clock. 
When  that  time  comes  my  vote  and  my  influence 
will  be  for  Mark  Stebbing.  Wait,"  he  said,  as 
deputies  stood  up  in  all  parts  of  the  house,  "  I 
have  not  yet  concluded.  I  have  still  something 
more  to  say,  and  it  is  this:  Unfortunately,  or 
fortunately  perhaps  would  be  better,  some  of  the 
men  interested  in  the  management  of  the  Traction 
Company  are  members  of  this  great  Convention. 
I  say  here  and  now  that  this  strike  must  be  settled 
on  the  lines  proposed  by  Mr.  Stebbing,  and  that 
the  proposition  for  settlement,  based  on  the  orig- 
inal grievances,  must  be  made  here  and  now  and 
given  to  the  press.  We  are  citizens  of  no  mean 


292          THE   BETTER  MAN 

city,  members  of  a  great  Church,  and  we  can  well 
stay  our  endeavors  to  choose  a  head  until  this 
matter  is  determined.  I  know  that  there  are  re- 
porters present,  and  that  the  whole  wretched  story 
I  have  told,  and  the  confession  I  have  made,  will 
be  spread  broadcast.  It  is  part  of  my  punish- 
ment. I  accept  it  without  repining.  The  only 
amends  I  can  take  for  my  action  is  to  insist  that 
the  strike  be  settled  now  and  at  once;  that  the 
blood  of  Mark  Stebbing  shall  not  have  been  shed 
in  vain.  And  in  honor  to  his  memory,  if  he  be 
dead,  or  to  soothe  his  last  hours  if  he  be  dying, 
or  as  a  stimulant  to  his  recovery  if,  please  God, 
he  shall  live,  that  there  shall  be  carried  to  his 
bedside  the  report  that  the  strike  shall  be  settled 
as  he  planned.  I  want  this  Convention  to  go 
on  record  here  and  now  to  that  effect.  The  strike 
must  be  settled.  Now,  gentlemen,  with  my  sin- 
cerest  thanks  to  you  for  your  forbearance  with 
me,  and  to  those  who  have  been  so  mistaken  in 
me  and  have  supported  me  for  the  Episcopate,  I 

yield  the  floor  which  you  granted  to  me " 

Half  the  Convention  was  on  its  feet  shouting 


COURAGE   OF  CONFESSION  293 

for  recognition.  The  Right  Reverend  Chairman 
surveyed  the  crowd  for  a  moment,  evidently  ques- 
tioning what  to  do.  Finally  he  rapped  the  multi- 
tude into  silence  and  recognized  Mr.  Penrod. 

"  Your  motion  for  adjournment,"  he  said, 
"  which  you  withheld  while  Mr.  Barmore  rose  to 
a  question  of  personal  privilege  is  in  order,  and 
nothing  else,  I  take  it,  unless  you  yield  the  floor, 
which  would  have  to  be  done  with  the  unanimous 
consent  of  the  house,  to  any  other  member  who 
may  desire  to  address  it." 

"Right  Reverend  Sir,"  said  Penrod,  "may  I 
say  a  few  words  before  I  yield  the  floor?  " 

"  With  the  consent  of  the  house,  yes,"  said  the 
chair. 

Cries  of  "  Let  him  speak !  "  rang  through  the 
building. 

"  The  chair  hears  no  objection.  You  have  the 
floor,  Mr.  Penrod." 

"  Well,  sir,  I  only  want  to  say  that  I  have  been 
thrilled  to  the  very  soul  by  the  splendid  words  of 
Mr.  Barmore.  Although  I  am  a  devoted  friend 
of  Mr.  Stebbing,  and  one  of  his  chief  supporters, 


294          THE   BETTER  MAN 

I  want  to  say  that  the  members  of  this  house 
who  have  voted  for  Mr.  Barmore,  and  who,  I 
doubt  not,  will  continue  to  vote  for  him,  make  no 
mistake.  By  the  God  above  us,  sir,  he  is  a  man, 
and  a  man  after  my  own  heart,  and  I  shall  not 
fail  to  tell  Mr.  Stebbing  so  with  as  much  frank- 
ness as  this  gentleman  himself  has  employed.  It 
has  taken  as  much  courage  to  stand  here  and  make 
this  confession  as  it  took  to  face  the  mob.  As 
to  what  the  result  of  the  vote  will  be  to-morrow, 
I  shall  not  attempt  to  say,  but  it  seems  to  me,  sir, 
that  the  Diocese  will  be  in  good  hands  what- 
ever betides.  Now,  sir,"  he  continued  after  a 
pause,  "  I  yield  the  floor  for  the  last  time  to  the 
only  man  who  is  entitled  to  have  it  now,  General 
Wharton." 

The  General  had  been  thinking  rapidly.  His 
hand  had  been  forced.  Although  he  was  furiously 
angry  with  Barmore  for  forcing  it,  he  was  not 
so  angry  as  to  be  blind  to  the  facts  of  the  case. 
He  had  supported  Barmore  because  he  considered 
him  a  safe  man;  now  he  would  support  him  be- 
cause he  was  both  honest,  able,  and  brave.  It 


COURAGE  OF  CONFESSION  295 

took  honesty,  ability,  and  almost  superhuman 
courage,  as  Penrod  had  said,  to  make  the  con- 
fession that  the  house  had  just  heard.  He  was 
confident  that  that  would  make  Barmore  a  stronger 
candidate  than  ever  for  the  Episcopate,  and  he 
was  confident  that  the  welfare  of  the  Church  would 
be  best  served  by  his  election.  As  to  the  strike, 
Barmore's  bold  attack  and  Stebbing's  brilliant  self- 
sacrifice  would  change  public  opinion.  He  had 
everything  to  gain  and  nothing  to  lose  by  the  settle- 
ment, besides  he  was  frankly  touched  by  the  whole 
series  of  incidents.  He  had  expected  that  Bar- 
more  would  call  upon  him,  and  was  glad  Penrod 
did  so.  He  rose  slowly  to  his  feet  amid  another 
of  those  deep  and  terrible  silences. 

"  I  wish,"  he  began  slowly,  "  to  take  my  part 
of  the  blame  for  all  that  Mr.  Barmore  has  said. 
I  am  glad  for  one  thing  that  it  has  given  him  an 
opportunity  to  show  his  true  worth  and  his  true 
nobility  of  character.  Further  than  that  I  shall 
say  nothing,  except  this :  The  strike  shall  be  settled 
on  the  terms  proposed  by  Mr.  Stebbing  and  advo- 
cated by  Mr.  Barmore.  There  are  members  of 


296          THE  BETTER   MAN 

the  press  here,  I  am  sure,  and  they  can  give  this 
statement  the  widest  publicity  as  coming  from  me 
personally." 

The  General  sat  down.  A  delegate  with  a  fine, 
rich  voice  rose  slowly  to  his  feet  and  began  the 
long-meter  Doxology.  The  whole  Convention, 
all,  that  is,  except  Barmore,  who  sat  with  his  face 
in  his  hands,  tears  streaming  through  his  fingers. 
He  had  lost  the  election,  he  had  lost  the  woman 
he  loved,  he  had  lost  the  confidence  and  friendship 
of  General  Wharton  and  his  parishioners,  but  he 
had  regained  his  self-respect,  his  honor,  his  de- 
cency, and  if  he  was  not  happy,  he  was  at  least  at 
peace  with  himself. 

"  The  house,"  said  the  Bishop  presiding,  as  the 
final  amen  was  sung,  "  will  unite  in  prayer,  and 
after  the  benediction  it  will  adjourn  until  to-mor- 
row morning  at  ten  o'clock." 

When  the  last  words  of  the  Bishop  had  died 
away,  and  the  last  amen  had  been  said,  Barmore 
rose  first,  with  a  feeling  of  freedom  in  his  heart 
which  he  had  not  experienced  for  many  days,  and 
walked  down  the  aisle  toward  the  door.  The 


COURAGE  OF  CONFESSION  297 

Convention  rose  with  him,  and  the  members  stood 
still.  No  one  crowded  before  him  or  about  him, 
but  every  eye  looked  at  him  with  respect,  with  ad- 
miration, with  devotion.  It  was  a  triumph  too 
great  for  words.  He  stood  on  the  great  portico 
of  St.  Hilda's  and  looked  about  him.  There  he 
was  joined  by  Penrod  and  General  Wharton. 

"  My  car  should  be  here,"  said  the  General 
formally  enough,  "  and  Margaret." 

"  Sir,"  said  Penrod,  "  the  man  who  brought 
me  the  tidings  about  Mr.  Stebbing  said  that  your 
daughter  had  taken  him  down  to  the  City  Hall, 
and  that  she  had  gone  with  him  to  the  Mercy 
Hospital." 

"  There  is  the  car,"  said  the  General,  as  Haw- 
kins turned  the  corner.  "  Gentlemen,  I  am  going 
down  to  the  Mercy  Hospital  myself.  We  may 
be  an  ill-assorted  trio,  but  I  shall  be  glad  to  have 
your  company." 

Barmore  and  Penrod  looked  at  each  other  for 
a  moment  and  both  nodded.  They  descended  the 
steps  to  the  street  together.  By  this  time  the 
portico  of  the  church  was  crowded  with  delegates. 


298          THE   BETTER  MAN 

Someone  stepped  to  the  front  and  cried,  waving 
his  hat: 

"  Three  cheers  for  Barmore !  " 

And  so  with  that  acclaim  in  their  ears  the  trio 
rode  rapidly  away. 

For  a  few  moments  no  one  spoke.  It  was  the 
General  at  last  who  broke  the  silence. 

"  Barmore,"  he  said,  "  that  was  the  finest  thing 
that  I  have  ever  seen.  The  courage  of  Stebbing 
in  facing  the  mob  was  not  greater.  I  do  not 
think  it  was  as  great  as  your  courage  in  making 
that  statement.  I  do  not  care  what  Mr.  Penrod 
or  anyone  else  thinks.  In  my  judgment  you  are 
the  man  for  the  Bishopric,  and  I  am  more  than 
determined  to  support  you  to  the  bitter  end." 

"After  Mr.  Stebbing,"  said  Penrod  bluntly, 
"  you  are  my  choice,  Mr.  Barmore." 

Barmore  shook  his  head. 

"  There  is  no  after  Mr.  Stebbing." 

"  He  may  die,  he  may  even  be  dead  by  this 
time,"  said  Penrod  gravely. 

"  God  forbid !  "  cried  Barmore. 


CHAPTER  XII 

IN   WHICH   ALL   IS    SETTLED   IN   THE    ONLY   WAY 

THE  three  soon  reached  the  hospital.  Miss 
Wharton,  whose  father  was  one  of  the  governors 
of  the  great  institution,  had  caused  Stebbing  to 
be  taken  to  the  finest  suite  of  rooms  in  the  build- 
ing. The  three  gentlemen  were  led  into  a  little 
parlor  off  the  room  in  which  Stebbing  lay.  Doc- 
tors and  nurses  were  busy  over  him.  Miss  Whar- 
ton came  into  the  parlor  when  the  nurse  told  her 
who  had  arrived,  and  informed  her  father  that 
Stebbing  had  just  regained  consciousness,  that  he 
was  in  a  frightfully  critical  condition,  and  that 
the  doctors  insisted  that  an  immediate  operation 
be  performed.  It  would,  if  successful,  save  his 
life;  otherwise  it  was  despaired  of. 

"  There  are  some  things  which  ought  to  be  said 
to  Mr.  Stebbing  now,  Miss  Wharton,"  said  Bar- 
more  gravely,  "  and  we  are  here  to  say  them.  We 
believe  that  they  will  do  more  toward  preparing 

him  for  the  operation  than  anything  else." 
299 


300          THE  BETTER  MAN 

"Is  it  about  the  strike?" 

"  It  is,"  said  the  General,  "  and  other  things." 

"  I  will  ask  the  surgeon  in  charge  if  you  can 
see  him,"  said  the  girl. 

"  Wait,"  said  the  General;  "  why  are  you  here, 
Margaret?" 

"  I  am  here,"  said  the  girl,  "  because "  and 

this  was  the  hardest  part  of  Barmore's  suffering, 
"  I  am  here,"  said  the  girl,  slowly  but  deliberately 
choosing  her  words,  "  because  I  love  him." 

Barmore  stepped  forward.  Penrod  uncere- 
moniously took  the  bewildered  and  surprised  old 
General  by  the  arm  and  swung  him  around  so 
that  the  man  and  the  woman  were  free  from 
observation.  The  General  was  nothing  loth  to 
turn  his  back  after  the  first  shock  of  surprise,  and 
he  and  Penrod  walked  to  the  window  and  engaged 
in  perfunctory  conversation. 

"  I  have  sinned  grievously,  Miss  Wharton," 
said  Barmore  quietly,  "  but  I  have  made  what 
amends  I  can.  Your  announcement  is  part  of 
my  punishment.  It  is  almost  more  than  I  can 
bear,  but  I  acquiesce  in  it.  I  do  more.  You 


Ll  am  going  to  marry  you,"  said  the  girl,  "when 
you  are  well  again"     (Page  304) 


ALL  IS  SETTLED  301 

have  chosen  the  better  man,  and  I  pray  God  that 
he  may  live  to  love  you  and  to  cherish  you  as  you 
ought  to  be  loved  and  cherished." 

"  I  am  very  sorry  for  you,  Mr.  Barmore,"  said 
Margaret  quietly,  her  gravity  almost  matching  his 
own.  "  I  come  nearer  caring  for  you  now  than 
ever  before.  I  do  care  for  you,  but  not  in  that 
way." 

"  No,  not  in  that  way.      I  understand." 

She  turned  on  the  instant  and  left  the  room, 
and  in  a  few  minutes  came  back  again. 

"  The  doctors  say  that  if  you  have  good  news 
for  him  you  may  all  see  him  for  five  minutes," 
said  she. 

The  three  gentlemen  followed  the  woman  into 
the  room  where  Stebbing  lay.  General  Wharton 
stood  at  the  foot  of  the  narrow  bed,  Penrod  on 
one  side,  and  Barmore  on  the  other.  Margaret 
Wharton  stepped  beyond  Penrod  and  laid  her 
hand  gently  upon  Stebbing's  uninjured  shoulder. 
There  was  a  momentary  pause  while  the  sorely 
stricken  man  turned  wonderingly  from  one  to  the 
other. 


3o2          THE  BETTER  MAN 

"  Mr.  Stebbing,"  said  the  General  with  un- 
wonted gentleness  in  his  voice,  "  I  have  come  to 
tell  you  that  the  strike  shall  be  settled  on  the  lines 
you  propose,  and  that  it  is  to  be  so  settled  is  due 
to  two  things,  first,  to  your  own  heroic  action, 
and  second,  to  my  candidate  Barmore's  splendid 
confession  and  appeal  before  the  Diocesan  Con- 
vention." 

"Thank  God,  he  was  true  at  last,"  said 
Stebbing  slowly.  "And  the  election?"  he 
questioned. 

"  It  is  postponed  until  to-morrow  morning," 
answered  Penrod.  "  Your  friend  Barmore  made 
a  speech  in  which  he  confessed  that  he  had  re- 
frained from  supporting  your  position  and  from 
preaching  the  sermon  on  the  settlement  of  the 
strike  because  he  feared  it  would  affect  his  chances 
for  being  a  Bishop.  He  told  everything,  keeping 
back  nothing.  It  was  magnificent.  And  then 
he  made  a  demand  that  the  strike  be  settled,  and 
General  Wharton  at  once  acceded." 

"  I  confessed  everything,  Mark,"  said  Barmore. 
"  I  told  the  Convention  that  I  was  not  worthy 


ALL  IS  SETTLED  303 

to  be  Bishop,  and  I  asked  them  to  vote  for  you 
in  the  morning." 

"  He  did,"  said  Penrod  swiftly,  "  he  did  that 
very  thing.  It  was  the  bravest  thing  I  have  ever 
seen  done,  quite  as  brave  as  your  facing  the 
mob." 

"  Braver,"  said  Stebbing,  who  understood  the 
whole  situation,  even  that  which  had  been  left 
unsaid  and  unrelated.  "  Barmore,  old  friend," 
he  continued,  "  you  have  shown  me  that  I  was 
right  in  thinking  you  the  best  man  for  the  office. 
They  say  I  have  to  be  operated  upon  in  a  short 
time.  I  may  never  have  another  opportunity — 
it  is  a  touch  and  go  with  me  as  to  whether  I  live 
or  die — that  is  as  God  pleases — but  I  want  to  say 
here  and  now — to  you,  Penrod,  who  have  been 
my  chief  supporter,  and  to  you,  General  Wharton, 
although  my  adversary,  my  friend — that  he,  and 
he  alone,  must  be  made  Bishop  of  this  Diocese, 
that  I  will  not  accept  it  under  any  circum- 
stance, that  he  has  shown  his  quality  by  his 
confession — and  you  must  elect  him.  No, 
Barmore,  don't  interrupt  a  man  who  may  be 


304          THE   BETTER   MAN 

dying,  and  a  man  who  loves  you— you  understand, 

Penrod?" 

"  I  do." 

"  And  you  will  do  what  I  wish?  " 

"  Yes." 

"That  is  all.  Wait,  General  Wharton,  I  am 
sorry  that  I  kissed  your  daughter — against  her  will, 
but  it  was  only  because — I  love  her  so.  I  sup- 
pose she  will  marry  Barmore,  he  is  the  better  man, 
and  I  want  to  beg  his  pardon — and  her  pardon, 
and  yours." 

"  She  is  not  going  to  marry  me,  Stebbing,"  said 
Barmore  softly. 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"  I  am  going  to  marry  you,"  said  the  girl, 
"  when  you  are  well  again." 

She  bent  over  and  kissed  him  before  them  all. 
Barmore  turned  away  and  walked  slowly  from 
the  room.  The  others  followed  him. 

"  Do  you  love  me  ?  "  whispered  the  man  in 
amazement. 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  woman  directly.  "  I 
think  I  must  have  loved  you  ever  since  I 


ALL  IS  SETTLED  305 

met  you  at  St.  Osmund's  that  day  so  long 
ago." 

"  I  shall  not  die,  but  live,"  said  Stebbing  hap- 
pily. "  The  strike  is  settled — Barmore  is  to  be 
elected  Bishop — and  I  shall  have  you " 

"  Forever,"  said  the  woman,  kissing  him  again. 


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